The night is young, and pickings are slim. The skies of Melbourne have opened and water pours down, spills off roofs, runs in the streets and gutters. Alleyways are deserted; even the streetwalkers have sought cover from the deluge. I move among the raindrops, untouched. I have a knack for this, and other things.
On the fringe of the city, the truth is different. The darkness calls the young and foolish from their homes; the darkness, music and sex. They cluster as moths at a flame, looking all the while like drowned cats. I move through the crowd huddled at the nightclub entrance. They part before me; I am as Moses to their sea.
Inside, the throng greets me, draws me in like a long lost lover. Music blares, its heavy rhythm my heartbeat. Cigarette smoke and lust hang in the air in equal measure. Faces turn towards me, evaluate the form I present. I am young, as are they. Everyone is beautiful, alluring, sensual. Black is the colour of choice for most - clothes, eyes, lips. White is for faces. The exception is a splash of purple or blood red. I dress like them to blend, but my beauty surpasses theirs, my allure greater.
I move with the music, dance with abandon amid the press of bodies. Alone, I am the target of many young men, a few women. They parade before me, displaying their wares, their actions giving credence to the term 'meat market'. Their lives and bodies are for sale. The price a drink, a night, or perhaps eternity. I hunt tonight, but my tastes are selective. There is nothing here to tempt me: only young flesh and indifferent blood.
A flash of green catches my eye: a rare colour in this place. The boy beneath the shirt is older than most, mature enough to have a shadow of beard on his face. He wears only liner around his eyes: no face-paint, no lipstick. His skin is naturally pale against the dark satin of his shirt. His legs, long and slim, appear firm beneath tight fitting black jeans, calf high black leather boots. I move from the crowd, towards the bar. He follows, smiling. Tonight he will be distraction, nothing more. If I hadn't been hunting, he might have made a pleasant distraction for the evening.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he moves closer, attempting to pin me between his body and the bar. I move aside. "Thank you, but no." I lean against the bar and light a cigarette. "My name is Lillith, what's yours?" I blow smoke in his face. He does not cough. One point to him.
"Greg."
I reach out and stroke his hair, still holding my cigarette. He stands his ground before me. His hair is black - natural, not dyed - and thick. It flows like heavy silk between my fingers.
"Do I please you, Greg?" I smile teasingly, toying with his hair about my finger.
He looks me up and down, his gaze settling for a time on what cleavage this dress displays before returning to my face. He places a hand on my waist, letting it slide naturally down towards my buttocks. "Oh, yes." He moves in closer.
My hand slides over his shoulder as he moves, coiling behind his neck. He shivers at my touch. I move it back between us, taking a drag from the cigarette before butting it out. I rest both arms on his shoulders, clasp my hands behind his neck, and bend to kiss him as I exhale. He breathes in my smoke, returning my kiss with enthusiasm. His mouth tastes of mint and honey. He draws back first.
"Where have you been all my life?" It is a half whisper from him; his eyes still partially closed.
"Around." I say it with humour. "Isn't that a particularly old line?"
"No older than your answer." His eyes search mine for meaning, or for questions. I'm not entirely sure which. "You're different to most of the girls here. What is it about you?"
"Find out, and I might share it with you." I look past him to the end of the bar and spy my true prey. Her hair is fair, almost white, her eyes green. She wears a velvet dress of deep red that bleeds the colour from her skin. She meets my eyes and smiles.
"Then come back to my place, and let me look in all the right places." His hands are all over me. He lowers his lips to my neck and nibbles beneath my hair. The touch is maddening.
"Don't," I warn.
He meets my eyes again and all at once is lost in their depths. Play is over, now is the time to hunt. I release him back into the wilds of this place. He is unaware that a part of his soul became mine tonight. If I call, he will come, and his life will be the price of his obedience.
She moves towards me and I sense she is hunting, too.
"He wasn't your type." Her voice is soft, almost silky, with an unnatural quality that human ears would not detect. She is shorter than I first thought, petite. She climbs onto the stool beside me, her dress trailing to the floor. I play the fool and sit when she indicates. Part of the game.
"Perhaps not," I admit. "Although he was cute." I wait for her next move. In her eyes, I am drowning in her aura, a captive of her presence, trapped.
"I could sense your need, your hunger. It wasn't for him. Not for anything like him." She reaches to touch my hair, but I draw back. Her smile wavers, the intensity of her gaze increases. I will a change she can not detect, and my heart begins to beat, my skin becomes warm. I start to breathe. When her hand moves again, I do not retreat. Instead, I lean into it in the way of a cat: eyes closed, purring.
"No. My hunger is for you." There is no need to throw my power behind my words; hers is working for us both. She can feel my truth, taste it. I am sure.
Her face brushes mine, sending shivers through us both. She breathes in my scent, slowly, savouring her moment of conquest. Her hand moves around my waist, draws me close as she pulls us both to our feet.
"Come with me," she leads me into the darkness of the club, away from the throng and their music. "The rain had stopped when I arrived. There is a place out back…" Her words trailed off as, led by her hand in mine, I walk willingly into danger.
* * *
The alley is wet. Water pours from a broken pipe high above, but the doorway where we stand is dry and sheltered from prying eyes.
"You smell so good," she kisses me, her hands explore my body. I stand still and allow her touch, drinking in the aroma of her lust, her hunger.
"So do you," I whisper. It is easy to pretend to be lost in her power. If she'd been human, she would have been equally as seductive. I miss their simplicity, but their touch, their blood no longer nourishes me.
Her kisses move lower, over my neck - lingering only briefly. I stiffen, barely, at the brush of her teeth on my skin. There is nothing more erotic for me.
"Shh," she holds my eyes, and I fall voluntarily into their depths. "You won't remember a thing."
She kisses my hand. As her mouth moves up my arm, I lean in towards her, nuzzling into the cloud of her hair, scenting her power. I kiss her neck as her lips reach the inside of my elbow. The touch of her lips is thrilling, the taste of her skin salvation. As her teeth pierce my skin I smile, and bury my fangs in her throat.
It is her turn to stiffen, to try and draw back. She obeys my unspoken command, quieting, and I bury myself deeper within her, tasting fear and lust and reveling in the power of her blood. When I am sated, I lick the wound I have made, lick my lips, smile.
"Shh," I whisper, "you won't remember a thing."
© copyright 2001 - NPM Oakley