Night's Dove

young-e89

The street lights flickered as the wind grew stronger, even with the glass house that cased each one, their fragile flames were no match for the ever mobile wind. It seeped into the cracks created by poor craftsmanship and age to playfully swirl around the orange-red hue.

He watched from his position, his eyes trained to observe. He smiled as the flame flickered, once…twice…three times before the wind won the battle. His crow feet grew more distinctive as he watched the affects of the breeze…his internal senses telling him that the wind was alive; breathing, loving, and from what he could tell also a most humorous fellow.

The sound of shoes tapping on the stone road echoed in the distance, catching his attention. His stance sharpened and his hearing grew more alert as he waited for the mysterious person. His eyes scanned the night and like a vision in one of his dreams a golden beauty walked from the black abyss. He moved a slow step backwards into the building's shadow as her strides brought her closer to him. Her dress was a delicious remedy of colors and the ruffles floated in the air as the wind, the lucky bastard, he thought, swam across every inch and every curve of the woman's body.

He swallowed, hunger swelled up into his chest. His eyes sparkled, he knew he was horrible for thinking such things, yet deep down he knew he could fight himself all he wanted, the outcome would be the same. If he did not have this one he would have another. Any other would suit him, but this one was different. The lady…well, he couldn't exactly call her a lady; the neck line of her dress was far below any modest level and her dress practically screamed of promised sex…no she was no lady, but a woman all the same and a woman he wanted.

He never moved from his shadowed place, instead he whistled, piercing the night's silence. Her head snapped looking in his direction, her blonde hair struggling to escape from the curls she must have spent hours on. She approached him, he could see her eyes light up as she scanned over his body. The dress suit he wore was expensive of chores and she knew it.

He laughed; the poor girl had no idea what she was getting herself into.

"What's your name?" She adventured to ask.

"Matthew," He answered, of course it was false name but it satisfied her all the same, "Yours?" He asked, not that he really cared, but again he had to satisfy her.

"Lana. You don't sound English, where you from?" Her lips curved into a delicious smile as her hand was passed not-so-innocently on his arm.

He inhaled, thinking whether he should tell her the truth, not that she would be able to tell anyone anyways.

"Come on…tell." She pouted, he hated the pouting; a true sign of weakness when one chooses to pout.

"Romania." He answered her curtly.

She looked a little confused; her smile faded a little before restoring to it perfected form, "Matthew doesn't sound Romanian."

The lines in his face grew deeper as his temper flared, yet the woman who stood before him showed no sign of recognition of his anger. Which incidentally angered him even more.

"So," Her hand slide from its position on his arm to his chest, carefully traveling downward, "I…"

Whatever she was about to say was cut off as his hand shoot up to snatch her hand from his stomach, his playfulness and once seductive mood changed.

"Aggressive are you," She laughed. His eyes scanned her features now noticing the amount of power and other female affects that she loaded onto her face, and his nostrils finally picked up the irritating smell of cheep perfume that seemed to hover on her body like a week old stench.

You have no idea. He thought as he pressed her body against the wall, her back flatted on the gray surface. His one hand held her wrists above her head as the other jerked her hair from her neck and forcefully tilted her head to fully expose her throat.

She started to struggle against his hold, "What are you doing…" Before she could finish her question he bit down on her jugular, easily drawing blood from her body. He hated himself, not because he would kill her, he didn't have to kill to feed, but because he wished he examined her more before taking her. He supposed he would have to clean himself half-a-dozen times before totally removing her damn perfume from his body and his suit would be burned for he thought no power on earth, heaven or hell could remove the stench from it.

He felt no excitement like he usually felt when he feed, nothing but a feeling of fullness as he dropped her limp body to the ground. He began to walk from the corpse, but something stopped him…it was almost like a new sense he gained when he was transformed into…whatever he was. He looked back at the woman, her body was already turning blue from the blood lose. What was it? He strained his eyes as he scanned her body, nothing…yet something was nagging him.

He walked back over and crouched next to her dead body. What was it nagging at him? He looked for a bag, but to no surprise she wasn't carrying one, none of the street's women carried any sort of purse that could easily be snatched away. Instead they carried what they needed in their dress. His fingers slid into the neck's opening, pulling out a small pouch. He emptied its contents; few coins, nothing that signified any sign of importance and a necklace.

It sparkled like a thousand crystals as he laced its fragile chain though his fingers. Its golden peak and purple crystal almost blinded him as the moon reflected itself off of it. Azunia he whispered the name of the crystal…its beauty just about paralyzing him.

He looked over at the corpse, why would a normal wrench have this, his gaze traveled back to the necklace. His questions were left unanswered as he waltzed away.