A Decadent Meal

A Decadent First Meal

(every Harvest requires one)

Phoebe worried the thin band on her pinky finger. Time was running out. She’d been on the hunt for days and had yet to turn up any prospects.

She could not fail. Her Harvest demanded and it was her responsibility.

There had to be someone, soon, though. Right? Right. After all, she was in Florida, for crying out loud.

Her eyes scanned the crowd. It was early and there weren’t a ton of people out, mostly the older crowd. While she wasn’t ageist, the unwelcome calm in her belly drove her further down the boardwalk.

Heading for the pier, and perhaps lurid activity, she pushed off on her rollerblades, willing the beast within to awaken. The sun on her skin and the breeze tugging at her hair as she swept down the boardwalk brought Phoebe little joy as trepidation clawed at her insides.

There were even less people here than where she’d come from. Resigned, she turned to head back and her stomach growled.

Her magic had awoken.

Phoebe stilled, scanned the smattering of people and halted on a man sipping gingerly from a to-go cup as he headed in her direction. Time slowed to a near stop as Phoebe studied him.

“Well,” she murmured under her breath. “What do we have here?”

He was in his thirties— early to mid, she’d guess— average height, stocky build and set the beast within her on edge. Burnished gold hair styled away from his face, leaving his hazel eyes clear.

Brown Wayfarers looped between the buttons of the pale aqua linen button-down— sleeves flicked back in careless cuffs to showcase forearms with hair as golden and thick as what waved atop his head— tucked into the waist of mauve chinos that offered a view of tanned and toned legs ending in tangerine boating shoes.

He was so perfect. Not because of how he looked or dressed but because he stirred the beast within.

He was the one.

The first man she would ever kill.

Ignoring the growl of her magic, tamping down on the instinct to attack now, here, she pushed off, picked up speed and sang-- just a little off key-- Dancing Queen, the only ABBA song she knew, under her breath. She lowered her lids until she could just peek through her lashes and began to turn in wide and fanciful circles.

Phoebe knew the lure must be dangled in order to hook the fish.

🧜‍♀️ 🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️

Troy lay flat on the ground, groaning. When the go-cup smacked against the ground, splattering him with the scorching contents, he bit out curses.

“Oh. I am so, so, so very sorry.”

The apology, though delivered by a smoky voice that trembled ever so mildly, did nothing to cut through the vexation that streaked through him when the spilled coffee spread beneath him to burn at his back.

He sprang up at the waist, peeling the fabric from his body and saw the candy pink and glittering grape purple rollerblades first. The unfastened jean shorts, offering a glimpse of the marigold bikini bottoms beneath, he saw second. Just before the electric blue cord of earbuds, hastily jammed into the front pocket of the shorts and swinging like a pendulum, drew his attention to the uninterrupted sweep of mahogany brown that started at thick thighs and ended at shapely calves.

Annoyance vanished like water through a sieve.

Troy’s gaze skimmed up hips to more exposed brown, over the matching marigold top that cupped bosom, and latched onto eyes of a most unnatural hue.

His heart tripped once before it began to beat a quick tattoo against its ribcage as his inner monster sniffed, catching the scent of prey.

“I am so sorry, mister. Really.”

Wordlessly, he took the hand proffered in assistance. It was warm and soft, slight. The monster within imagined it on his skin.

“I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

Her eyes, framed by thick lashes the same coppery-red as the ringlets that exploded riotously from her head, were an unnatural color. And yet, he was certain she’d been born with the purple irises— they lacked the inexplicable shutter of falsely thick lenses.

Although purple wasn’t an accurate description.

They were lighter, softer. Amethyst. But with ice layered thinly over the hue.

He’d never seen anyone like her. The combination of her attributes made her beauty seem somehow otherworldly.

He had to have her.

The monster inside him would have it no other way and, for the first time, he was in total agreement.

“You’re not hurt, are ya? Can you hear me?”

“No.” Troy shook his head, smiled. “I’m perfect.”

“Great.”

Her shoulders sagged with what he assumed was relief and she tried to pull her hand free but he kept a firm hold

“I’m Troy Woodsdale.”

“Phoebe Mahnahnuim.”

“It is a pure delight to meet you, Phoebe Mahnahnuim.”

“Hey. You got it on the first try.” She giggled and his blood ran hot. “No one ever gets it on the first try.”

“Well, I’m not just anybody.”

Again she giggled and he grinned in return, shuffled a foot forward so he could edge closer to her. “Phoebe, would you like a beverage? I’m in need of a replacement and would be happy to get you something. I feel like you’re an iced coffee kind of girl.”

“I’m not into coffee. Cher Horowitz said it stunts your growth, and I want to be 5’10 like Naomi Campbell.”

“No kidding.”

Calliope nodded enthusiastically. “She’s my idol. I’m gonna be just like her.”

“You want to model?”

She nodded enthusiastically, her breasts jiggling with the enthusiasm, and Troy bit down on his own tongue to for composure.

“I’m saving up to go to London so that I can sign with Synchro Model Management just like she did.”

He began to walk backwards as he spoke, leading her to where his boat was docked, so he remained facing Phoebe. When she again tried to pull her hand away from his he merely threaded his fingers with hers.

“Well, I applaud your conviction and gumption.”

“Thank you. It’s blue raspberry.”

When she pushed a bright blue wad of bubblegum between her lips, then quickly pulled it back in to crackle and pop between her teeth, Troy was genuinely confused. Until he realized she didn’t know what gumption meant.

Laughing, he stopped walking and pulled until her blades bumped against the tips of his shoes.

“Do you have any headshots?”

“I have headshots.”

“Professional ones?”

“Well, my sister took them. She’s taking a photography class in college, though. She’s not half bad.”

“Well, what if I told you I was a professional photographer and would be honored to help you with headshots and some starters for your portfolio.”

For a moment Phoebe stared at him, mouth agape, before shaking her head. “Oh, mister, I can’t pay for that.”

“Troy. Call me Troy. And, it would be my pleasure— honor— to do this for you. No charge. Just be sure to shout me out in interviews once you’ve taken Milan by storm in haute couture.”

Phoebe’s giggles resurfaced, melded into a laugh this time, and Troy found himself laughing as well at the infectious bubble of it. At the exact same moment they both dropped their heads a fraction of an inch, the tip of his nose grazing against hers.

The air all but sizzled for him when Phoebe peeked at him through her brilliant lashes.

Troy gave the hand he still gripped yet another tug and she fell against him, her breasts brushing his chest. She lowered her eyelids and she jutted her chin just a hint so his bottom lip skimmed hers.

He shut his own eyes, prepared to nip at her bottom lip and the tension in his belly shifted into something more, when her tongue tentatively met his own.

Pulling back, nearly undone by the taste of her, Troy exhaled harshly. “What do you say I show you my studio? It’s just across the Halifax.”

“How would we get there?”

“My boat’s here.”

When she nodded, the monster inside him howled with glee.

🧜‍♀️ 🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️

“Sealacious.” Phoebe cast off the last moor line and forced herself to casually stroll from the stern to the cockpit. “Aren’t boat names supposed to be punny? I don’t get it.”

The corner of Troy’s lip quirked just a fraction as he started the engine, adjusted the throttle. “I didn’t name it and never bothered to change it.”

Phoebe studied him for a moment, clenching her fists at her side.

She got it, alright.

Salacious, lewd, crude, corrupting, improper, obscene.

As her magic had connected with the lingering essences of the many women who had boarded, but never disembarked, the moment she’d stepped on deck Phoebe found the name of the vessel to be very fitting.

She was sure he did.

Phoebe adjusted her stance to accommodate the pitching of the boat as they picked up speed. It hadn’t been very difficult, she mused, getting him away from the Boardwalk and to the water. Troy had been all too willing to be alone with her, which, given his predilections, made more than a little sense.

Of her mother’s Harvest she had been the oldest hatchling born with a black fin and Phoebe had spent her maturation years dreading the first Harvest of her own. She’d viewed it, and the meal it required, as a burden. Something that would haunt her for all the days to pass.

Phoebe had been wrong about that. She had no qualms ending this blight on humanity. Fulfilling her duty would be a pleasure.

Troy was absolutely deserving of what was coming to him.

Beneath the hard top she scanned their surroundings and relaxed her shoulders, grateful the sound of the water and engine muffled the rampant growling of her stomach. She rubbed a hand over her belly, telling her inner beast it was but a matter of time.

When they’d cleared a pocket of boaters, and found themselves alone, Phoebe covered his hand with her own.

“Do you think we could pause here for just a minute?”

“Yeah.” Troy nodded. “I’ll drop the anchor.”

Phoebe grinned and moved to the bow, shimmying out of her shorts before she sat and stretched her legs out on the deck to wiggle her bare feet. At the soft sound Troy made she looked up to see him ogling her.

“Something wrong?” Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she watched him come to her.

“Not at all.” His hands at his back, Troy shook his head, rocked back on his heels. “This has shaped up to be an unbelievably lovely day, is all. You are not what I had on my bingo card.”

Phoebe giggled, grinned as she lay back. “That’s funny. You are precisely what I had on my bingo card.”

“Is that so?”

His question carried a condescending and bemused tone, making her giddy for the kill.

“You’re of a type. I’ll admit, I was getting worried the particular type would be hard to come by in this area, but then you appeared. Like a moth to a flame.”

“That’s funny. You don’t know why it’s funny, but it is.” Troy chuckled deeply. “I could say the same about you. The moth to a flame bit.”

Phoebe smirked and, though she caught the glint of silver behind his back, closed her eyes and let her magic take over. Just when Troy would have driven the knife he grasped into her, Phoebe rolled onto her left side and brought her legs up to kick out, connecting with his kneecaps.

🧜‍♀️ 🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️

Troy’s body slapped bitterly against the deck, his head landing so fiercely his teeth rattled and he saw stars. He swore a blue streak and made to get up but didn’t manage it quickly enough; Phoebe shoved him flat, planting her foot on his chest to hold him in place. Troy didn’t try to move; his head had taken another knock when she’d returned him to his back and nausea now roiled in his stomach.

“Why aren’t you scared,” he managed to spit out.

He forced himself to look up when he felt her lowering to straddle his waist and watched her pupils narrow until they were non-existent. The whites and that scintillating amethyst remained, her face framed by all that copper-red billowing out behind her. He’d thought she looked otherworldly in a beautiful way before; now, she looked otherworldly in a terrifying way and he found himself desperately afraid.

“Oh, Troy.”

She dragged his name out in a lilting singsong, capping it with a derisive cackle as she seated herself onto his lap.

The moment was nothing like he’d imagined.

“You may be a monster but I literally exist to eat monsters like you. Sometimes just for sport.”

“What does that mean? How did you know about me?”

“There is a beast that goes bump in the night and frightens the other monsters, sends them scurrying home to their mothers and the light.” Phoebe leaned in, placed a hand on his chest and slid it up to cup him by the throat before softly growling, “I. Am. That. Beast.”

Troy’s heart thundered in his chest. Every alarm bell in his brain fired orders to get out, get away.

He managed one good buck against her before there was sudden stinging along the sides of his neck. Phoebe drew her hand back, wiggling her fingers, and he saw her fingernails had elongated to resemble short paring knives with lethal tips.

Just when his brain sent yet another signal to get up and run, Troy lost all feeling in his legs.

“What’s hap- happen- ing t- t- t…”

His voice trailed off and terror skittered along his spine, paralysis overtaking him entirely while Phoebe’s mouth curved into a wide smile.

“You are getting what you deserve.”

🧜‍♀️ 🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️

Ravenous, the beast within growled loudly and Phoebe smirked at the way Troy’s horrified eyes moved to her stomach.

She was amazed he hadn’t heard the growling beast within before.

It didn’t matter now, for he was hers.

She would kill him, pluck this dreg of humanity from existence and reap her Harvest.

“I can feel their last moments,” Phoebe announced to Troy as she undid the ties of her bikini bottoms.

Troy’s eyes, pupils dilated, wheeled in his head as he lay unmoving.

“It’s poetic that you should meet your end here. You’re afraid.” She said it matter of factly as she slipped the band from her pinky and looped it through her right lobe. “The women you brought on this boat were fearful, too, terrified by the things you did to them. Some of them were also outraged.”

Phoebe grinned toothily when Troy managed to make one gurgled sound as she morphed from human to her true self.

His eyes bulged and she chuckled at the knowledge he would have bucked and screamed if able.

Tiny bumps had erupted to form symmetrical patterns over all visible skin, whereas a tail— ruby beneath iridescent plum and lilac scales down to its fin— now occupied the space between above Phoebe’s hips and legs.

Phoebe flicked her tail, raising the translucent onyx fin so rays from the sun caught and shimmered in the opalescent purple and silver that rimmed its edges.

Tossing her hair back, Phoebe sighed wanly. “I’m technically supposed to puncture your brain stem after I paralyze you. My kind do not take interest in torturing humans— even the despicable from which we hunt—but I am going to make an exception in your case, in deference to the Outraged.

“The ones who wished you pain and suffering for the horrors you inflicted. On behalf of all those you chose to defile, those you would go on to ruin and kill, I will make your end as painful as I can manage.”

Phoebe lifted her right hand, the gaps between her fingers— now joined by the same translucent and veined structure as her fin— set off a kaleidoscope of black, silver, and purple in the sunlight while the center of her palm played host to a mark in the shape of a human heart.

Inhaling deeply, Phoebe hauled Troy into an awkward sitting position with her free hand, then used her tail to keep him upright. With her left hand she rested open his mouth, gone slack, and watched with joy as panic flooded his eyes at the sight of that soot gray mark tearing itself from her palm.

The muscle, thick and heavily veined, slithered snake-like into his mouth.

“Open wide.”

Phoebe’s inner beast purred as it passed Troy’s teeth and slid down his throat to his trachea. The strong and flexible tissue fought to oust her, but Troy’s heart beating overtime was like a Siren’s call. The cartilage was no match for the beast.

The lethal muscle forced its way through the trachea and clamped onto the pulsing muscle, swiftly depleting each of the four chambers. More blood rushed in to replace what she’d exsanguinated and the beast did not detach until every ounce had been drained.

Coated gleaming red, the beast furled in the air as it retracted back into Phoebe’s palm and Troy’s lifeless carcass flopped onto the deck with a dull thud.

Phoebe arched her back, her belly sloshing decadently.

It would be worth the discomfort, she thought. The beast would bathe her Harvest and when it hatched her children would have their first meal.

Already thrilled to share the tale of her first kill with her own little black fin someday, Phoebe gathered what had been Troy Woodsdale, and using her tail to push up, dove overboard.

Relishing in the cool wet, she gave an effortless swish of her tail and set out for home and Harvest.

-fin-