Man-Eater

Disclaimer: I don\'t own Petshop of Horrors and I make no money from this or any other fanfic I write.
Pairings: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Drama
Rating: R
Warning: Shonen Ai/Yaoi. Language, Violence
Title: Man-Eater
Notes: Sequel to \'Denial\' and Story Two in the Arc, which takes place before Volume 9\'s fourth chapter, Dynasty


MAN-EATER
CHAPTER SEVEN


Fortunately for D, the hallway just outside of Leon’s apartment door was as deserted as it had been upon his arrival earlier in the afternoon. He glanced down one length of the hall, then the other to make sure there was no one nearby, straining his ears for any voices or footfalls. Finally convinced that he was indeed alone, and grateful that there was no one to see him in such a shocking state of disarray, he took a few tentative steps towards the entrance of the stairwell, his heart and mind racing.

He half expected Leon to come bursting out of his apartment, voice raised and his signature temper flaring, but he heard not the slightest sound from behind the detective’s door. Part of him wished that Leon would come after him, demanding an explanation, ranting and raging in typical Leon fashion and he was a bit disappointed when that didn’t happen. But another, much larger, more rational part of his mind felt only the greatest relief that he was able to get away from such an awkward situation as easily as he had.

“Leon…” The word passed his lips barely more than a whisper, but there was no denying the sadness in D’s voice, the aching helplessness.

His vision blurred as tears once more threatened but he blinked them back savagely, determined not to give in to the maelstrom of emotions that tore through him. ‘It’s better this way,’ he thought desperately, ‘Safer… for both of us…’

For a moment his strength failed him and D’s body sagged as his legs momentarily gave way. He flung out one hand in order to catch himself from falling and leaned up against the wall, head bowed, his breathing harsh, dark hair falling forward to curtain the pale triangle of his face. His free hand flew to his mouth, the fingers tracing the soft contours of his lips.

The smallest sound of hopeless longing escaped D’s throat when he realized that he could still taste Leon’s kisses on his lips. The memory of their heat still danced along his lips, raced along his body, scalding him, wracking him with subtle spasms of helpless desire. Dropping his head into his hands, he struggled to suppress the memories and sensations that assaulted him. But they were too new, too fierce. A single tear broke free and slid hotly down his cheek, followed almost immediately by a tiny, muffled sob.

“What have I done?” he whispered hoarsely through his fingers. “Oh, what have I done?”

But he received no answer to his questions. Indeed he hadn’t expected one.

D didn’t know how long he stood there, head in hands, hiding his face from the world. Long enough, he knew, for the last of the sun’s light to fade completely from the picture window at the end of the hall. Darkness enveloped him and he cast a quick glance up towards the ceiling, expecting the florescent lights to flicker on now that all light had faded from the hallway, but they remained dark.

“Broken or burnt out,” he murmured thickly. “What a surprise. But I think I can sympathize.”

A small, tired smile played over his lips, but there was no humor in it.

Grateful for the darkness that hid him from any prying eyes, D scrubbed his face with one hand, obliterating the last of the drying tears. Pulling himself away from the wall, he ran one hand through his hair in an effort to smooth it. For a moment he wished he had a mirror so he could make sure that his appearance didn’t reveal any of the turmoil that still boiled through his mind. Lacking that, he patted his hair, straightened his robes as best he could, and faced the fact that he would just have to make do. With a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders, threw up his head, and began walking, his footsteps firm and determined.

He would not let this get the better of him. He was stronger than that, better than that, even if he didn’t feel that way at the moment. Even if it felt like his entire world was crumbling down around him.

Once outside the protection of the apartment building, the wind howled and roared around him, colder now that the sun had set. The force of it whipped his hair into a wild frenzy, stole his breath away, and slapped cold color into his pale cheeks. He shivered and, reaching for the front closure of his chiao fu, suddenly realized that he had left his jacket in Leon’s apartment.

“I can’t go back for it, not now,” D muttered, the very idea filling him with horror. “I guess I’ll just have to find a short cut or walk a bit faster if I wish to stay warm.”

Unfortunately, the walking faster part was easier said than done. The wind screamed and whooped around him, sucking the very air from his lungs and plucking insistently at his clothes. The scent and taste of the ocean was being carried on the violent air currents, and it permeated his senses, obscuring all else. He raised one arm, ducked his head beneath its meager cover, and squint his eyes against the force of the wind and continued walking.

A few minutes later he stumbled and only managed to catch himself in time to avoid a nasty fall. He peered down at his feet, trying to see what it was that had caused him to trip. The street lights a few feet ahead of where he stood were dim and flickering and he was currently standing in the dark shadows cast of a rather large and scraggly looking tree, but he could just make out that the sidewalk at his feet and directly ahead was a mass of cracks and fissures. Torn and buckled from earthquakes past, the cement was full potholes and other imperfections that could easily break or sprain the legs or ankles of the unwary. The street itself wasn’t much better nor was the twisted stretch of grass and weeds that marched off towards the apartment’s so-called court yard.

“How in the world did I manage to miss this happy little obstacle course?” D wondered aloud as he stared at the broken remains of the sidewalk, spotted here and there by rather ugly and uninspired splashes of graffiti. ‘Street art’ some people called it, but to him it would always be nothing more than mischievous acts of vandalism by teenagers who couldn’t find a more constructive manner in which to express their budding creativity.

Of course, his question was entirely rhetorical. With the benefit of sunlight earlier this afternoon, he had been able to steer through this obstacle without any problems and it hadn’t even showing up on his mental radar as something strange or out of the ordinary for this rough section of town. But now that the sun had set, navigating became a bit trickier. He was forced to wonder again why Leon insisted on living in such a derelict neighborhood. Surely with his salary he could afford somewhere just a little bit nicer, couldn’t he?

“Someone really ought to inform the City that the sidewalks in this neighborhood are in the most horrible condition,” D muttered to himself as he slowly picked his way through the crumbling cement. “It’s no wonder I’ve never seen anyone walking around here. It’s dangerous.”

D uttered a small sound of pique as a small hunk of rubble tumbled under his weight, which caused his ankle to twist out from under him, pitching him forward. A brief flash of pain from his ankle drew another small gasp from him, but it didn’t hurt him quite so as much as take him by complete surprise. He felt one of his feet actually slip free from his shoes as he stumbled forward a few steps, hopping and pin-wheeling his arms about in a most undignified manner, before he was able to recover his balance and avoid yet another potentially nasty fall.

“My God, this place is a death trap and a lawsuit just waiting to happen!” D exclaimed angrily, crouching down for his shoe, which was now covered in dirt and crumbling bits of debris.

He stood haughtily and slapped the shoe against his leg to knock away the dirt then unceremoniously dumped it upside down to make sure there were no foreign objects trapped in the shoe. A few small pebbles fell out and bounced along the cement. One more shake and a quick peer into the shoe convinced him that there was nothing else hiding within its depths. Still muttering under his breath, D slid the shoe back onto his foot and continued walking, this time making sure to watch where he going with special care.

As he continued walking on, D, eyes to the ground, sensed the buildings falling away from him on his left. His nose twitched as he caught the first distasteful reek of garbage. A quick glance to the side confirmed that he was indeed passing the alley where several of the apartment complex’s many dumpsters were kept. A powerful stench of wet rot and decay wafted from the confined space, making D’s stomach lurch in an alarming manner. Pulling a face of disgust, he fished one hand into a hidden pocket, dragged out a scented lace handkerchief with his initial embroidered along the hem in a flowing Diane script, and proceeded to press it lightly against his nose. The scent of his favorite cologne enveloped him, and he inhaled deeply, but it wasn’t strong enough to completely block out the foul odor.

From somewhere deep in the darkness of the alley D heard a rustling of plastic garbage bags and the muted clinks of their contents rubbing and tumbling within their confines. He paused for a moment as the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. Casting a cautious glace around him to make sure he was alone he then turned his attention to the alley. For a moment he thought he saw movement a few feet away, but it was so dark that it was impossible to say for sure.

More movement caught his eye, he was sure of it now, the flash of something either glass or metal as it caught the dim light of the moon followed by more rustlings that sounded almost… stealthy. He believed that it, whatever ‘it’ was, was closer now... much closer.

‘Rats,’ D thought nervously, suddenly aware that he was standing alone in front of the entrance to a dark and noxious smelling alley on a completely deserted street. And the sun had set leaving the world in darkness, a time where monsters, not necessarily the animal kind, lurked and thrived.

‘Yes, it must be rats,’ he rationalized, ‘This is just the sort of habitat so many of the wild ones seem to enjoy, though dark and smelly alleys riddled with garbage would never be top ten on MY list of places to live.’

D tried to chuckle at the small joke, but it dried up in his throat before any sound could be uttered. He might rationalize that it could be rats making that oh so stealthy noise that continued to creep closer, but none of his senses gave him any indication that there were any rats currently taking up residence amongst the garbage that littered the alley. The air, though rank enough, lacked the familiar undercurrent of rodent droppings that was a telltale sign that rats were present in mass numbers. His ears caught no squeaks or squeals, his eyes saw no red glittering of eyes slinking close to the ground.

Every instinct he possessed screaming that it would be foolish for him to keep standing there like an idiot just waiting for whatever was approaching from the darkness to waltz up to him and introduce itself. And, after one more searching glance into the darkness, D whirled abruptly, intent on getting home as quickly as his legs would carry him.

‘It’s getting late, and Chris and the others –‘

D’s train of thought was derailed as he ran into something warm… and very solid. He instinctively recoiled, one hand flying to his chest as a wordless exclamation of surprise, much louder than he thought was dignified, was torn from his throat.

The solid something turned out to be a surprisingly tall Oriental man who stood blocking his escape route. The stranger, partially hidden in a pool of shadows, was wearing dark shades, blue jeans, and a black leather jacket with many decorative metal studs that gleamed mutely in the dim light thrown off by one of the distant street lights. He said not a word to D, and only peered over the rim of his expensive looking shades at the horrified Count.

“Oh, I am so sorry, sir,” D gasped, appalled at what he had done. He bowed low at the waist, hair falling forward to hide his face. “Please, please forgive me. I should have been watching were I was going.”

When the stranger didn’t respond, D straightened up slowly, his eyes warily traveling up until he was looking the stranger in the face. ‘A handsome man,’ he thought, ‘but his bearing is so very intimidating…If only I could see his eyes…’

The stranger casually removed the shades as if in response to D’s mental wish, tucked them into the inner coat pocket of his leather jacket, and stared down at the smaller man. His lips turned up at the corners in what may have been interpreted as a smile. Perhaps in the daylight it would have appeared to be friendly, even amused, but now, half hidden by shadows, it looked only predatory and more than a little threatening. Without the shades that hid them, his dark eyes glinting almost malevolently in the dim light. Instinctively, D took a wary step backwards, his eyes never leaving those of the man before him.

Without a word, the stranger continued to stare at him, his dubious smile widening just a touch at D’s obvious unease. Though his eyes remained cool, almost impassive, the weight of his gaze as it traveled over the length of D’s body from head to toe was anything but. Struggling to control the shudder of revulsion that wanted to work its way along his spine, D’s hand flew to his throat and he once again wished he had his jacket with him. The man’s gaze upon him made him feel naked and vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with sexual desire and everything to do with fear.

The stranger stepped fully out of the shadows and advancing upon D menacingly, walking him backwards until his back was pressed up against the brick wall, pinning him there with his body, arms on either side of him. D struggled and squirmed, trying to find his voice, but was only able to form small startled gasps as he found himself trapped between the unyielding brick wall and the hard, muscular body of the man holding him so effectively captive.

“So, you’re Count D,” He murmured softly. His voice was low, husky, and his breath, fragrant with the scent of coffee and brandy and a hint of peppermint, puffed warm and moist against D’s face. “So we finally meet.”

“N-no, sir,” D gasped, doing his best to edge away from his assailant, but finding himself unable to move as the man pressed his weight against him more firmly. “I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I am not the Count. Rather I am his grandson.”

The man pulled away in surprise. “Not the Count, you say?”

“Yes,” D murmured, nodding his head in relief as he found himself able to move once more, “that is correct.”

The man moved one arm from its position against the wall, reached out to grasp D’s chin. D tried to pull away, but the man’s grip was hard, unyielding. He had no choice but to allow the contact for he could not break away. In silence the stranger turned his head this way and that, peering at his face from various angels, then, finally, he leaned closer and peered into D’s multi-colored eyes.

“Amazing,” he breathed. “The resemblance is absolutely amazing. You share the same face, same black hair, the same pale, ivory skin… You look just like the Count did when he was younger.” He offered a small secretive smile that made D’s skin crawl. “But the eyes…your eyes are different from those of your grandfather’s. One gold, the other purple, truly a most unique shade combination one does not see in human eyes. But for all that, they are so very beautiful.”

“And who are you?” D ventured to ask, feeling very much at a disadvantage, “And…and how do you know my grandfather?”

The man released D and pulled back a little bit farther with a short bark of laughter. “Of course, I must apologize. How very rude it is of me to not make a formal introduction. Where on earth are my manners?”

He gave a slow, formal bow, then straightened and grinned wolfishly down at D. “My name is Kuan Yin Zhang. And I must admit that I never had the pleasure of meeting your grandfather personally. But I have seen photographs of both him and your father, and again, I must say that the resemblance you hold with them is remarkable. One could say that it is almost… uncanny.”

“Needless to say,” Kuan Yin continued in a more brisk and professional tone, “You are a descendant of Count D’s bloodline, are you not?” When D nodded silently in response to this direct question, his eyes wide, Kuan Yin flashed another smile, all white teeth and sharp edges, but no less disconcerting.

“Good, good. And since I have been unable to locate either your grandfather or your father, I’m afraid that I have no other choice than to take up my employer’s business matters with you.”

“Business matters?” D said, breathlessly. “What do you mean?”

“You and your family are in possession of several items of great importance that belong to my Lord,” Kuan Yin murmured, his voice smooth, calm, and very professional. It was the tone one was accustomed to hearing from a lawyer while in the middle of a court room battle, but not while being accosted in at the mouth of a dark and smelly alley.

Kuan Yin spread his hands in a beseeching gesture and offered yet another of his unnerving smiles. “Naturally, he is anxious to find these items and would like to have them back in his possession as soon as possible…the sooner the better.

D’s mind reeled helplessly at this statement. ‘Items,’ his mind demanded, ‘what items could he possibly be speaking of?’ He racked his memory and in a few moments was able to pull up a mental listing of many of the more valuable items that he had in his possession at the pet shop. Unfortunately, none of them could possibly be the items this strange man was referring to for they had been in his family’s possession for hundreds of years. Perhaps if he were given a description of what these items looked like…

“I-I’m sorry,” D finally replied, pulling himself up into an almost military posture, “but I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Kuan Yin’s smile slipped a notch, but he was able to hold onto it, though it took some obvious effort on his part. His arm snaked out and planted itself once more against the wall, an action that screamed intimidation. “Come now, don’t be difficult.” His eyes narrowed slightly and a harsh edge began to creep into his voice. “I know you know exactly what items I am speaking of.”

“I’m afraid I do not,” D replied, his voice cool and firm. He had reached the end of his patience and wanted nothing more than to be rid of this man and on his way home. “And I will not be able to help you unless you can be a little more specific about these items that you seek. If you wish, you can contact me at my pet shop in Chinatown. Sometime tomorrow would work or the perhaps the next day. Now, if you will excuse me, it is getting late and I need to be going.”

D inclined his head graciously, “Good night to you, sir.”

With that he pivoted on his heels, ducked under Kuan Yin’s arm, and began walking as quickly as he could in the opposite direction, back towards the relative safety of Leon’s apartment building. Perhaps, if they were not out of service, he could use one of the public telephones he had spotted on his way to Leon’s apartment to call a taxi. Failing that, he would just have to take the long way home.

Unfortunately, before he got more than three feet away, he felt Kuan Yin’s hand wrap around one of his wrists in a biting grip.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Kuan Yin snarled.

“Unhand me, you-” D voice was icy as he turned his head intent on unleashing a scathing remark, but only a cry of pain came out when his arm was cruelly yanked up between his shoulder blades in a twisting grip. The next thing he knew, he was swiveled around and slammed up against the brick wall. His forehead bounced off the wall with enough force to make him see stars.

“Tell me where you’ve hidden the sacred ring and blade,” Kuan Yin hissed, pressing D into the wall while holding him by the nape of his neck and by his right wrist. “Or so help me God - I swear that I will tear your fucking arm off.”

Kuan Yin yanked D’s arm up higher as if to emphasize the point. D screamed

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” D cried once the pain subsided enough for him to find his voice. “I swear!”

“Liar,” Another savage pull at his arm, much harder this time.

Gray waves of pain rolled over D, sickeningly huge. So intense he could do nothing but writhe helplessly.

Kuan Yin released his neck and D felt his body bend and twist slightly behind him. Through the fog of pain he managed to collect his thoughts enough to wonder what this mad man might be up to now. It didn’t take long to find out.

Kuan Yin straightened, a leering smirk twisting his lips. In his hand he held a switchblade, which must have been concealed somewhere in his clothing. He held it close enough to D’s face so he would be sure to get a good look at it. With a push of a discretely designed button, the blade flashed out, blue-silver in the light and looking every inch as deadly as D knew it could be. His eyes widened and his breath hitched in his throat as he felt all color fade from his already pale face.

Leaning close enough so that he was almost within kissing distance, Kuan Yin grinned down into D’s pallid face.

“Nice, isn’t it?” He murmured, with a touch of very real pride in his voice. “A true beauty, here, don’t you know. Cost me a pretty penny, but it is so worth it.”

With deliberate slowness, he drew the blade down the length of D’s face until it was nestled just below his chin. Feeling sick, D closed his eyes and fought the urge to pull away, not knowing if such a reaction would be taken as a show of defiance. He certainly didn’t want to provoke his assailant into doing anything drastic. The man seemed unstable enough as it was.

Kuan Yin chuckled low in his throat, obviously loving the dominance he held of his victim. “It’s an Italian Stiletto, by the way, the largest one in the line with a thirty-nine and one-half inch blade. Looks more like a sword than a knife, doesn’t it? Made from modern metal and the highest quality materials for durability, it is a quality blade all around. It’s a work of fucking art.”

The blade was pressed into D’s throat, not cutting, but with enough pressure to let him know that the man meant business.

“Now, my stubborn friend,” Kuan Yin continued his voice low and fierce. “You and I are going to have a bit of a chat.” Once more the blade was pressed against D’s neck, only this time it bit into the pale skin hard enough to draw blood. “And you are going to answer all of my questions to the best of your ability. Is that perfectly clear?”


TO BE CONTINUED…