“We’re not finished,” he said, one hand holding his fractured wrist.
“Oh, you’re right. We’re not finished by a long shot, but tonight’s fun is over,” I announced, tilting my head to the side.
“I didn’t come here to kill you.”
“Really?”
One corner of his mouth jerked into a half smile as he watched me. “Not this time.”
“Just remember that your business is with me. Touch another nightwalker and you’ll be dead before you even know I’m there.” I let my hands fall to my sides, palms facing him. Drops of fire tumbled from my fingertips like water. The flames pooled at my feet for a moment, then shot out like something alive, surging toward the walls and across the hardwood floors. My eyelids drifted lower until my eyes were barely open. I could see him watching me, but my focus was on the fire that had slipped down through the floor and was quickly seeking out both of the exits.
With one last smile I darted out the open window to my right and landed in the yard. I jogged across the lawn and only paused to look back when I was in the middle of the street. The house was engulfed in brilliant orange and yellow flames. I knew he would get out. Men like Danaus didn’t die so easily. I was half tempted to remain behind to see him run from the building, but there wasn’t time. The night had grown old and I needed to feed to replace the blood he’d spilled tonight. I would finish killing the hunter later.
Two
The sand has run out on more than six centuries for me. I have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, the discovery of new lands and peoples, and acts of cruelty by humans that chill even my cold blood. But across the ages and changing face of man, I have to admit that the twenty-first century is by far my favorite. In these times, people can shed their past and appearance like a snake slithering free of its dead skin. The world is covered in a new Technicolor facade that has been built over the old realm, blotting out the sky and the earth.
Now there is no need to stalk my victims through dark alleyways and gaze down from hidden rooftops. Lost souls dot the landscape like daisies, waiting for me to pluck them up with promises of release. They stare up at me with empty eyes and broken hearts like I am their saving angel. I slip into their lives to deliver them briefly from an existence that has no direction or greater meaning.
In an effort to blot out this vast void, these poor people have decided to fill it again with the primitive. In the dark corners and hidden clubs, the comfortable mask of civilization has been ripped away and they indulge in a feast for the senses. This new age of decadence has these creatures drowning in a wellspring of sensations, bathing in new tastes and smells. But my favorite is the glorious sense of touch. No matter where I go, there always seem to be hands reaching out to caress, to fondle, and to connect.
After centuries of covering our flesh from the tops of our heads to the soles of our feet, clothes have shrunk and become a type of second skin. In fact, I’ve never seen a people with a greater fascination with leather. That wonderful material has been cut, stretched, and stitched into so many amazing shapes that it can now cover every inch of the body or just the social essentials.
Upon waking with the sinking sun, I decided to go to one of my favorite haunts not far from the river. The Docks was an old, derelict building that had been converted into a nightclub. I strolled through the city streets, enjoying the warm caress of a late July breeze. The area hummed and throbbed with life. It was a Friday night and people were rushing toward one distraction or another. Weaving through the random herds of people gathered here and there, I listened to the steady cadence of my heels clicking against the cracked and dirty sidewalk, echoing up the sides of the flat brick buildings that lined the city landscape.
At the corner, I paused. I had been about to turn north when I sensed a nightwalker at Forsyth Park. This giant green space lies in the historical district, dominated by a great white fountain bathed in the glow of yellow lights. Among the various races, Forsyth was a type of demilitarized zone. Within the boundaries of the park, there was no hunting, no fighting, and no spell casting. Anyone who broke this truce forfeited his or her life. It was here that most of my kind requested meetings with me. Of course, I could ignore the request. Unfortunately, the young nightwalker’s tension was thick in my thoughts and polluting the air. Such things were never good for keeping the peace.
Threading an errant lock of red hair behind my ear, I continued west to the white fountain that rose up in the center of the park. The night was thick with the scent of flowers that overflowed from their beds. Despite the ongoing drought, this favored spot was well-tended by city officials, determined to maintain its verdant perfection. The soft splash of water hitting stone danced in the air, nearly overwhelming the steady swish of cars headed toward the hot spots along River Street.
Joseph lounged on the low marble wall surrounding the fountain. His long legs were extended and crossed at the ankles. He wore a pair of dark dress slacks and a burgundy dress shirt open at the throat. Barely more than twenty years old, Joseph was still a baby among my kind. He had been a member of Riley’s flock, but at least was brought over with my approval. Only recently had Riley begun creating nightwalkers with careless abandon. Since Riley’s demise, Joseph stuck to the outskirts of my domain, determined to find his own way. He had also been wise enough to avoid me. I didn’t tolerate the young well.
“This isn’t your part of town,” I said as I entered the park. He slid easily to his feet, but anxiety tightened like a rubber band in his frame. I could feel his emotions as clearly as if they were my own. Older vampires learned to shut the door of their mind. Joseph was still struggling.
To make matters worse, I had surprised him. I shouldn’t have been able to, but his attention was divided at the moment. There was only one thing I could think of that would drive a fledgling vampire to seek me out: Danaus.
“The symphony lets out in a few minutes. I thought I’d visit with the blue bloods tonight,” he said. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to affect a casual stance, but his legs were spaced wide apart, ready to run or fight.
“Running low on funds?”
Other than a slight twitch of his right eye, his bored expression never wavered. We all started out that way, a mix of bloodsucker and pickpocket. Most didn’t appreciate being reminded of it. Joseph’s normal hunting grounds were the narrow strip that housed most of the nightclubs as well as the scattering of bars not far from the university. Aesthetically speaking, those areas were more pleasing to the eye and generally more entertaining. Unfortunately, the college crowd wasn’t the greatest source of income.
“We’re not all as lucky as you,” he said.
“Everything comes with a price.” I strolled closer, vaguely aware of the scattering of people spread about the area. However, none were close enough to overhear our conversation. The steady rush of traffic flowing past us also kept our words muffled against the curious. I stopped before him, gazing into his hazel eyes. The gentle tug of his powers teased at my mind as he tried to enthrall me. He couldn’t help it. He had not yet learned to control it. Humans would fall to his every whim, but if he encountered anything else, it would most likely rip his throat out in irritation.
I ran my left hand up his chest and was starting to wrap it around his throat when he jerked away. It was an instinctive move, showing a distinct lack of trust. I had to only arch one eyebrow at him in question before he returned to my side, tilting his head to offer up his throat. Seizing his neck, I forced him to sit back on the low wall.