The window of opportunity is gone. I lean back in my seat, sunglasses shading the fractured light of the garish chandelier. I sip my pint. The suds of beer tickle my tongue, but the taste is not one I care for.
Too weak. Too dilute.
I need something more.
My gaze flicks to the shoal of young men who have entered the bar. They are loud and young. Flashy jackets scatter light on their naïve scales as they make too much noise and see too little of the other clientele. We are not of their primitive stage.
The bones in my neck click as I roll my shoulders. I don’t want the fun the patrons will have tonight with these mere boys. My taste for blood is far more refined.
I slip out of the bar and into the cool street, feeling the fluttered petals of icy white that settle against my skin and eyelashes from the oh so pale sky. Tonight, I shall dine out. Perhaps al fresco. Certainly al dente.
Then I catch sight of my mark once more. He walks slowly, as if waiting for me. I run my tongue over my teeth and follow at a careful distance. Eventually, his path wraps around a building that shields from prying eyes.
My feet make barely a noise or imprint as I track him, but still he catches me off guard. I chuckle in surprise as his fingers snarl in my collar and slam me against the wall. Now I know why his form intrigued me.
“Vampire hunter, huh?” I whisper secretively as his eyes cross with confusion at my laughter. “Oh yes, I know what you are,” I continue, smile still stroking my lips. “I know you instinctively, as you know me.”
“You didn’t attack me in the bar. Nobody did.”
I smile gently. He’s good at this. I can see the years of experience in lines on his face, yet he is younger and far less knowledgeable than me.
“But you didn’t raise your eyes, sweetheart. “ I gaze deep into hungry amber orbs. “We know instantly when we see your eyes.”
“Then how did you know?”
“Practise and time. A lot of time.” I remember amber eyes with those same flecks in the last century. How disagreeable that they should now belong to someone so handsome if terribly dressed. A flicker at his clothing still disappoints me, but the face and the eyes… Even knowing what he is and thinking him plain and rough in features, the face and eyes are still somehow attractive to me.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, hesitation clunking his shoulders. He doesn’t want to stake me but he doesn’t know why. Interesting. “Why didn’t you just kill me in the bar?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” I murmur, tracing the outline of his lips with a delicately gloved finger. My hand drops and I smile gently up as his grasp on me diminishes. “Perhaps the same reason you let me follow you without turning me to dust the moment you could.”
He frowns and steps back. “I won’t kill you this time,” he mutters.
“What about next time?”
Another deep frown and he’s gone.
“I look forward to it,” I find myself whispering to the falling snow.
Want more dark fiction? Prefer a longer read? Try >> Desecrated Bonds
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