He was staring again.
She inhaled and dropped her green eyes to the glass in her grip. She tried not to think about it, about him. No, she couldn’t think about him. Biting her lip, she followed the trail of condensation down the side of her wine glass with her eyes. Soon enough her fingertip began to trace the pattern, her skin reveling in the cool dampness that was making its way up her senses. But she could feel it in the back of her brain, itching at her conscience with unrelenting passion.
He was staring again.
Everything in her body was tense, every muscle tightened and every bone seeming to shake with the added pressure. She felt the chill run up her back and spine until the rows of tiny bumps appeared on her arms. Immediately she drew her hands to her body, running her fingertips along the bare skin in an effort to get warm. She bit down further on her lip and the sharp taste of copper forced her concentration away for a moment. Looking down at her glass, she ran her tongue over the wound in her lip. For a moment she enjoyed the taste, the way it bounced off the senses and was both salty and sweet at once.
“Miss?”
She looked up and could see him then, staring at her with those crystal blue eyes. He was taller than she had thought, larger. His body was solid and hard. Muscular. He smiled at her and she felt something rip at her guts and tickle into her perception. His eyes were almost hypnotizing but he had the stench and smell of a predator. The corners of his mouth smiled but his eyes, no, they were thinking other things. He wore his deception well, she realized. To anyone else he would seem pleasant, kind.
Standing up she excused herself, hurrying from the bar and out the back. She could still feel the way his eyes had felt on her body and face. She could still feel them as she reached into her coat to produce the small pack of cigarettes. She had tried to quit so many times, so many ways. Nothing worked. It never did.
“Those things will kill you.”
She turned to catch those beautiful blue eyes latched onto her in the dark. She wondered for a split second about why she could make out the color so clearly in the dark of night. There was scant light, scant anything really. But no, those eyes were so clear.
She felt his fingers lock around her throat, the pressure there almost immediately as she began to gasp for air. Part of her wanted to fight, to kick and scream. It all disappeared as she began to concentrate on one thing only. Air. She couldn’t get any air. She pulled at the fingers on her throat, surprised that her mind had stopped thinking. All she wanted, all she could consider, was breathing. The burning increased, the pain, the fear. Still she pulled at his fingers as things began to twist and twirl. As she felt…
He was staring again.
She looked down at her fingertip, her eyes making out the subtle pattern she had carved into the ample condensation. She shook her head momentarily before wiping the runic symbol away with her thumb. She mustn’t forget that, she reminded herself.
Looking up, she could see him advance to her table and she quickly rose, grabbing her jacket as she did. She could sense that he had stopped, giving up his forward motion as he considered the situation. She could hear his thoughts distantly, his mind running through the possibilities, debating if he should follow. She didn’t look in his direction, her mind desperate to get away from the disease that was building in him. She had seen the small tendrils of death reaching off of him as she had entered the bar. She knew what he was, who he was, from the second she had laid eyes on him. He was sick. Beyond sick, actually.
She pushed her way out of the bar, leaning against the cool bricks for a moment after she ducked into the deep darkness. He followed her soon enough, his reactions not those of prey, but of a predator. That was the last of the many mistakes he had most certainly made in his life.
She felt his skin snap under the pressure of her fangs, the sensation similar to biting into a sausage really. She pulled slightly with her head, tensing as she sensed his vocal chords struggle for the ability to scream. She held him tighter as she pulled more, ripping his flesh and sending a torrent of red into her mouth. The warmth moved across her tongue and down her throat, tickling her subtly and making her bite into his flesh harder. Each time he struggled, she felt the tug of excitement and she moved to empty him of his life giving blood. She could hear him gurgling as he choked on his own fluids, suffocating as he struggled. The intoxicating sound of his suffering spurred on her actions more as she felt her hunger slowly become sated.
She pulled back suddenly, the vile taste of death hitting her taste buds. She turned, spitting out the last of her meal before wiping her chin with her coat. She could see him then, his blue eyes somewhat lighter as they stared, frozen in time. She almost regretted what she had done, how she had done it, but the feeling did not linger.
She removed the cigarette from the interior pocket of her coat, her feet moving softly from the alley and onto the street. Casually she began to walk, passing a newspaper stand and reading the words as she continued her movements.
Twelfth female victim found butchered. When will the killer strike again?
She pulled up her collar as she moved into the night and away from the scene. She didn’t stare ahead, but at the ground. Somehow she found the ability to smile.
I guess I’m lucky number thirteen.