Author: Jay Gabriel PM
There's someone on the prowl, and she's not afraid to use her talons.Rated: Fiction M - English - Horror/Suspense - Words: 574 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 04-06-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2905511
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I swiped at the smudged mascara with damp fingers. I forgot to buy wetwipes on my last bi-weekly trip to the corner shop for supplies, but I didn't care all that much. It was more hassle, but it cleaned just as well. I dipped my blackened fingers under the running water, letting the grey run off in little streams down the plug hole. I shoved my head under, letting lukewarm water permeate my pale hair. When I pulled away, the water ran red.
I lifted my head up, stumbling and grasping at the cold sink with head rush. The mirror showed my blurred face, the image fading as the need for more rose in me like the rise of the sun. My dark eyes stared back.
I thought back to the previous night, lips twisting into a grin as I remembered. I had spotted her in a bar, smelling of piña colada and vanilla, her long hair pinned back from her face with a crystal dragonfly. It was the dragonfly that caught my eye, twinkling in the dancing lights as her body writhed to the music. The rhythm changed and she sat down for a drink, and I pounced.
My hips swayed in time to the song as I stalked across the dance floor, the bodies parting like the sea as I strode. The heads at the bar turned to me, and hers was no exception. Up close she was pretty. Her hair was dark, but her eyes were light. I alone could see their colour in the dim light. Her dragonfly fluttered with the strobe lights. I fixed her eyes with mine, took her hand and walked out of the club.
The taxi ride back to her apartment wasn't quiet. Her hands were all over me, snaking between my legs and over my breasts, fingers in my hair and stroking the planes of my face. She kissed me, and I kissed her back. So anxious to have me. I probably wasn't even her type, let alone her gender. Pity she was mine. She already smelled of sex.
We were through her front door in seconds. I stripped her dress off and peeled off her sweaty panties. She wasn't wearing a bra. She wasted no time undressing me, still as fired up as in the taxi. I know we would have fucked right there on the floor, but I carried her to her to the bed. I laid her down gently, nibbling and sucking in all the right places, letting her have her release before I had mine. She thrashed and writhed as passionately as she had on the dance floor, pushing my head back down for more. I let her. I enjoyed it too.
Then it was my turn. She was inexperienced – a common problem with heterosexual girls – but made the effort anyway. I moaned and screamed, mostly for her benefit. When she thought I was done, I curled over and seized her throat in my teeth. Her blood ran fresh and fast and she sank against me, mewling with pleasure.
When I was done, she was dead. I had taken what I needed. Sex and blood. Sex was easy, but blood was always messy. It got everywhere, stuck to everything, and stained everything rusty brown. The smell was delicious. The blood would take minutes to wash out of my hair.
Crap. I didn't have any shampoo.