The cold air surrounding me whipped at my long black hair and bit into my pale skin ripping away any feeling I had left. The thin coat I was wearing was no kind of protection nor was the thigh length dress I was so fond of and of course tonight had to have been the night I chose to wear stockings. My mother used to tell me that stockings were the “socks of a prostitute”, my grandmother believed them to be the “devil’s apparel”, I however reasoned that either way sheer black hosiery looked hot. Admittedly walking down a cold dark alley didn’t exactly give me chance to flash a bit of leg. Suddenly a shiver ran down my spine and I snapped my head around to look back to the entrance to the alley. I figure was standing there, a familiar figure who’d I’d passed minutes earlier at the bar. He seemed somehow taller and thiner, more threatening, less human. Someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley in the witching hour. His hands were shoved in his pockets in a way that seems that he was at utter ease in the dark night. He brushed a hand through his hair and stepped over the threshold of the alley.

I turned away from him again and continued down the alley, I smiled remembering the gate at the other end, perfect for a swift escape. Two sets of footsteps echoed in the quiet shadows out of joint with each other, different species if you didn’t know any better. One set stopped.

I had frozen just a metre from the end of the alley, my hair was let go by wind and the gentle curls lay over my shoulder as still as my frozen heart. Yet more silence as his footsteps came to an end directly behind my own. The scene could have been from a painting considering the stillness as he breathed out. He hot breath swelled over my neck making my skin burn and in a movement that seemed sudden in the stillness he trail one angular hand over my hair to the base of my neck making my spine prickle.

Leaning right over my shoulder, his hot skin touching my own, he breathed in slowly and deliberately, taking in my scent. His thin hand snaked down my back and settled on my waist then with some force he gripped my waist, spun me and thrust me against the gate. The rattling sounded loudly but neither of us heard it. A guttural growl came from his throat as he pushed me into the wall with the full weight of his lean figure, I could not move, whether from force or fright. One hand worked it’s way deep into my hair and the other steadily followed the curves and contours of my body as he stroked down and settling on my thighs. Fingering the hem of my dress he buried his face in my neck, breathing deeply, his breath becoming more and more ragged. As his breath shuddered though his body once more his hips pressed into me, his lower hand now firmly grazing the top of my stocking on the inside of my thigh.

His lips brushed my neck bringing my eyes to the pale exposed skin before them, I was close enough to feel his pulse right there and suddenly all I could smell was lust and blood. That familiar energy once again course through my body and in one swift motion my incisors sharpened once more and I sunk my teeth deep into his neck, hot blood rushing over my tongue. The overwhelming taste filled me to my core with blood and as I drank, my visioned blurred, I was deaf, his scent filled my nostrils and we were one.

When I finally had drained him I examined his neck, I gently licked the two perfect bite marks in his sweet flesh, already mourning the passing of the high and dropped him to the floor. I breathed in the cold night air and with a stark realisation that my thirst was still not quenched I stalked off into the night checking that the subtle line of my stockings was still visible. Visible enough to create that perfect lustful temptation. The one that would bring me to my next Bloodlust.

Labels: sexual, vampires