He doesn't have to look to know she's there. It's 10 o'clock on a Thursday night. She never misses and she's never late. He feels her slide into the empty seat beside him and her scent immediately surrounds him, blocking out all others, immersing him in a heavy, fragrant cloud. She smells of cool earth, of freshly blooming green things and something much sweeter and more enticing. He spends those lonely rides home inhaling that scent, for it clings to his clothes and skin afterwards, sending echoes of the memories of their nights together flashing past his minds eye.
She doesn't speak to him at first. From the corner of his eye, he watches her signal for the bartender. She orders her usual, a double of Crown Royale on the rocks and he smiles a little to himself, glad to have finally found a woman that likes, and can handle, the good stuff.
She takes a sip and folds her arms gracefully on the edge of the bar.
"Rough night, Detective," she finally says in that beautiful voice of hers. It is low in timbre, much lower than what is considered feminine, and melodic, reminding him of soft haunting music, a tune that you can't exactly remember nor get out of your head. It moves like cool, dark silk over the warm flesh of his face and hands and in the back of his mind he can hear all those dirty little things she's whispered to him in that melodious voice.
"Eh, same old, same old," he says, matter-of-factly.
She turns slightly in her seat and he can feel her eyes on him. He doesn't have to look to know the expression on her face. She's watching him intently, her pitch-black eyes with their shimmering traces of swirling midnight blue moving lazily over his face and form.
She knows his moods, can guess in the space of a breath whether it's been a good or bad day and exactly how he's seeking to rectify it. More importantly, she can smell it on him. The smell of blood and metal means he's looking for a submissive, as if using her will help him to gain back some of the control he's felt he'd lost at some point during the day. If there is nothing more under the fresh, crisp scent of his aftershave, then things will be simple. Tonight, she can smell blood on him and she doesn't mind it one bit.
After a few moments of her silent scrutiny, he finally turns his head to look at her. She is lovely tonight, as she is every night they are together. The lilac sundress she is wearing makes her copper and cocoa skin seem to glow. The dress hugs and accentuates every line and curve of her 5'5" frame. The matching high heels add length and shape to her already toned legs. In the dim light, she appears somewhat softer than usual, though he is fully aware of the fact that she has the strength to rip out his throat in a heartbeat. But, he doesn't fear her, as most might. He knows a different side of her, a quieter, more yielding side. Her wavy ebony hair is brushed back behind her softly pointed ears and curls loosely about her shoulders.
"You look beautiful, Eve," he offers, and wonders, for the hundredth time, if 'Eve' is, in fact, her real name. He could find out, but he chooses to let this, and so many other things, remain a secret between them.
The corners of her mouth turn up into a gentle smile. Her lips are wonderfully full and luscious, tinted a light bronze. "Thank you, Clay," she says. She wants to return the compliment, but she knows he is not a man who revels in such trivial things. It, however, does not negate the fact that he is extremely handsome.
With his dark blond hair cut close on the sides and in the back, left a little longer on top, and his haunting gas flame blue eyes, his attractiveness could rival any of the beauties in her coven. He is tall and lean-muscled, quiet, severely independent, and extremely intelligent. He is somewhere in his early thirties, but appears much younger tonight in dark blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. A battered and worn brown leather bomber jacket hangs carelessly on the back of his barstool. Eve watches the supple play of muscle in his bare forearm as he lifts his beer to take a long drink.
Only when someone hollers out his name does Eve end her inspection of him. She turns back to her drink, using the action as a mask to watch a tall brunette sauntering up behind him. She is beautiful, in a plastic-perfect way, her hair piled high atop her head in large looping curls and her skin tight red sheath dress showing off all her many assets, including the expensive jewels resting against her throat. Her skin is pale, in that ethereal way that some people find attractive. Eve smiles inwardly as the woman drapes herself over Clay. At some point this woman might have been his type. Not anymore. Now, the young detective's tastes run more toward mysterious dark-skinned lady vampires.
She's only half listening to the conversation between Clay and Ms. Plastic-perfect, inane chatter laced with sexual innuendo, more on her part than Clay's. Clay merely continues to drink his beer and only Eve notices the bored expression on his face.
"Call me, honey," coos the brunette, her hand with their blood red nails lingering on Clay's muscular arm before she spots her 'next victim' and teeters off on her dangerously high heels.
"Well, that was fun," Eve says lightly, polishing off the rest of her drink. It warms her insides. The feeling is delicious, probably the closest feeling to an actual feeding than the act itself.
"Loads," Clay returns the joke, smiling for the first time since her arrival. He likes that she doesn't get upset when other women talk to him. Perhaps, she understands her place, or more importantly, her place in his arms. Since meeting almost two months ago, he hasn't slept with anyone else. She satisfies him, at least for now.
Silence claims the space between them once more. Eve declines the bartender's offer for a second drink. She has another, more intoxicating drink in mind. Even now, she can feel her fangs beginning to lengthen in anticipation of sinking into Clay's soft flesh, his blood spurting, hot and slightly metallic, over her tongue and teeth. She can feel him shuddering against her, his climax heightened by her drinking from him.
