The night was moonless, lit with only stars and streetlamps. The street was deserted as far as the eye could see, with the exceptions of a lone woman walking down the sidewalk a single man lurking in the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

As the woman passed, the man melted back further into the darkness, moving with well practiced stealth. As the woman continued past the darkened alley, she seemed unaware of the man who was now following her. As he leisurely pursued, the man timed his pace to catch up with her just as she passed another dark corridor between buildings. As he closed in, he could barely hear her humming a tune that he vaguely recognized.

She doesn’t even know I’m here behind her.

At the thought, he could feel a smile spread across his face; this was going to be easier than he thought.

I wonder if she’s a screamer.

It did not really matter; there would be no one to help her if she did. It was for that reason he loved the city. After all, how many “good” people had sat by and done nothing as someone was attacked in some manner or another just outside his or her window? Probably, the man surmised, the same people who had merely turned up their stereos or televisions whenever they heard their neighbor beating his wife or children.

He saw that the woman still had not noticed his approach as they neared the place he had chosen to make his move. Slipping his hand into the pocket of his jeans, his fingers closed lovingly around the tactical folding knife that he had purchased only hours ago.

After another few steps, the man made his move. With his free hand, he reached forward, quickly placing it over the woman’s mouth, and violently dragging her into the darkness between a subway sandwich shop and a check-cashing place. In a single fluid motion, he had her pressed against a brick wall and the knife out, it’s cold blade pressed menacingly pressed against her throat.

“Wanna party?” He purred in a low, rough voice. “I know you do. Why else would a tasty dish like you be out at such a late hour?”

He waited for her to start begging to be left alone, to plead for him not to hurt her. He had always liked that part of the hunt; the part where his prey would plead for the mercy he was unwilling and incapable of granting.

However, this time was different. There was no begging, no crying- not even so much as a hint of fear. There was only the look in her eyes, that- for reasons he would never get the chance to ponder- made him afraid for the first time since he was a child.

“You’re right.” The woman said, with her own purr of anticipation, and then smiled.

That was when the man noticed for the first time that the woman’s skin was cold- unnaturally cold. That was also the last thing he noticed before his intended victim quickly and effortlessly turned the tables on him. Suddenly he found himself against the same wall, the knife knocked from his hand, with the woman’s deathly-cold hand on his throat.

“I do want to party, but you’re the ‘tasty dish’ that should have stayed safely at home this night.” She said, her eyes taking on a feral look that caused him to void his bladder.

He tried to fight back, but it was like wrestling with marble.

“Go ahead, scream.” She invited as her hand closed like a vise around his throat. “If you can.”

As she leaned forward, his eyes widened as he saw her fangs the instant before he felt them pierce the soft, sensitive flesh of his neck. As she drank deeply of the warm, quickly pulsing blood that flowed through his carotid artery, she distantly heard the man’s gurgled attempts at a scream. Once the man’s struggling had ceased, the woman released her strangle hold and used her other hand to brace herself against the brick wall.

Standing over the man’s now lifeless body, she swooned slightly as the man’s adrenaline rush coursed through her like a drug. Of all the drugs she had ever tried, the adrenaline rush of a depraved brute was by far the most intoxicating- even more than fear or blood. Combining the three elements made for one hell of a potent cocktail that she found utterly stimulating.

Stepping back from the body, she pulled a black embroidered handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her lips- just as her mother had taught her 90 years before. As she re-entered the street, she thought about how easy it always was for her to kill the scum that inevitably underestimated her gender. Even though she was disappointed at how easy this particular prey went down, she knew that there would be more just like him. After all, as long as society allowed the humiliation and degradation of it’s own people, she would never go hungry- not for blood nor of the satisfaction that came with the destruction of those that had made her.

HOME