Third Night

It wasn't the first time I'd slept the whole day. My parents weren't particularly worried. They knew better than to try and wake me before I was ready to be woken. Dreaming had always been a favourite past-time, and that day I dreamt of blood and my whore.
Acceptance had come quickly. If my escape from the spotlight was in the form of a vampyre, then so be it. The onset of dusk had woken me from the sweet knowing of her. I was not annoyed; the sooner I went to her, the sooner I would have her.
Invoking the names of my protectors – Apollyon, Belial, Abaddon, Asmodeus – I made the journey to the two-storey house, with its front steps and low-lying side window.
She was waiting for me.
Curled in the soft flood of light from the lamp, she read more of 'Dr. Faustus'. From my perch by the window, I stared upon her, feasted on the sight of her. Every few minutes, she would glance at the window; I could tell she was afraid, but she had nothing to fear from me. It was she that I adored, I would not feed on her.
I could not bear the wait much longer. I felt the fear diminish in her, but yet she was still unable to find the courage to rise from her chair and open the window, for I could not come within her house unless she invited me.
Her glances towards the window became more frequent, but not frequent enough. She would not open the window to me unless I gave her reason to.
Unconscious of the whispered pleas escaping my lips, I willed her to feel the desperation within me, the pain of rejection, for she rejected me by not opening the window. I willed my thoughts to her, which all spoke of allowing me at least the chance to speak.
The glances became looks, and the looks became stares. An unsure guilt was creeping across her features. My beautiful whore would not reject me, she would hear what I would say to her.
Rising to her feet she hesitantly crossed the carpeted floor – I saw the delicateness of her slim bare feet. From behind the thin pane of glass, she stared at me. I could feel the fear within her, fear not of me but of what I would do. One hand of hers rested on the glass, one hand of mine came to rest at the same place, as if to touch her through the glass. A hint of a smile played at the corner of her mouth. Her free hand was working the latch, and then opening the window, inch by painfully sweet inch. The obstruction of the glass now gone, I could read her thoughts in her eyes. Her retreating fear, her piqued curiosity, her touched sense of romance – a secret admirer gazing upon her through a window as if to never see enough of her.
Slowly, I took her hand in my own, kissed it in the ways of old. My reward, a soft smile from such soft lips. Which I returned, but carefully. A show of fangs so early would win me no affection.
I did not release her hand, nor did she seek to retrieve it.
"Who are you?" her whisper was silken, like wind dancing over reeds.
"I am whoever you wish me to be," she sat by the window, leaning upon the ledge. Our eyes were level, intent upon staring into the other. She did not need my name, needed only to know that I adored her.
The tips of her fingers gently ran down my cheek; just as gently my fingertips followed the length of her hair, coming to rest lightly behind her head. The subtle gleam in her eye could not be mistaken for the invitation that it was.
That hand guided her lips to mine. She did not fight, she did not resist.
"You're the one that I adore," I whispered against the tenderness of her mouth.
"Really?" her breathing was deep, the expelled air ran down my neck. The tremors in her hand did not go unnoticed; she still feared me. Even as I loved her, she feared me.
Stroking her temple, I sought to comfort her.
"You are the beauty in my world," once again I was rewarded with a smile. She rested her forehead against mine, the intimate gesture as much a surprise to her as it was a delight to me.
"If my parents see you, they'll have you arrested,"
"Let them try. You are the child of my heart, I will not let you go," the forgotten hand in my own again tried to free itself, but as promised I did not let it go.
"What do you mean? You don't even know me," her lilting voice shook slightly. My fingers slipped through her hair, in reassurance. I would never harm her.
"I know enough. You'll be perfect, for in you I taste God," I could see the fear burning in her eyes. Why did she fear me so? I adored her. A gesture of silence stalled the shout that would have brought her parents and my discovery. I would leave her to dwell upon my words.
My hunger was fast making itself known.
"I fear my love, I must leave you behind this once. Yet I shall return for you. You are the child of my heart, and perhaps, in time, the mother of my child," her surprised cry died under the pressure of my lips upon hers. And I left her.

The pangs of hunger sharpened the instinct to feed. Dressed as I was, in black, it would be easy to hide in the shadows and use them to cloak whatever unsuspecting soul happened to pass. But where was the fun in such tactics? As the cat toys with the mouse before it eats, so would I.
The sound of a beating heart announced the arrival of my prey long before it spoke.
"Well, hello there. You lost?" the old streetwalker was long past her prime. The black leather only accentuated the heavy makeup used to hide fading beauty. I smiled; the darkness would hide the glisten as my mouth watered for the taste of something other than what this harlot offered.
"No," I could see the glint of excitement in her heavily outlined eyes. Charmed by the pale beauty common to all vampyre kind, no doubt.
"How old are you boy?"
"Sixteen," it was not often she saw one so beautiful so young.
"You're underage," her voice dripped disappointment.
"Does that matter so much?" it had obviously been a long time since she'd had one so beautiful so young.
"I guess not," her words came on a sigh of pleasure. Taking her lined hand, I led her back into the shadows. I don't believe she even noticed when the fierce lips at her throat were replaced by sinking fangs. Her warm blood would sustain me through my sleep.
I left her corpse where it had fallen, with a few quarters. For good measure.


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