This story contains blood (obviously), violence, mentions of domestic violence/abuse, and mind control. It's a slow burn, so it'll be a while before we get to any real sex scenes, but I promise you they're coming!
Natalie was tired of hunting the lowest common denominator. She longed to return to the simple world of her youth, to stalk the shadows, free of worry and doubt. In those days there had been only the hunger. The seduction. The primal thrill as her prey's eyes went wide at the realization of what she was.
Natalie adored that expression.
Half terror and half betrayal. The realization that she was not the woman of their dreams come to save them, or a beautiful but naive serving girl, or whatever other guise she'd chosen that evening, but the harbinger of their death. Watching the light in their eyes sputter out as she drank her fill was absolute bliss.
"Can you believe that? He told me that twenty percent was unfair, so I said to himโ Are you listening?"
Alan's deep, gruff voice pulled Natalie back to the present. To the dingy, smoke filled dive that was tonight's hunting ground. She replayed the past few minutes of their conversation in her head. Something about loan financing. It didn't matter. He wouldn't care what she thought, only that she was paying attention.
"Is twenty percent unfair?" she asked dryly. Get him talking again, and he would natter on unchecked for another half hour. Alan seemed the kind of man who ranked the quality of a conversation by how much he managed to speak.
He loosed a heavy guffaw. "Of course it is. But he didn't know that, he only thought he knew that." He articulated this point by thrusting a stubby finger at her. "Anyway, I said to him..."
Natalie tuned him out.
Alan Simmons was 47, divorced with no kids, and worked for a predatory loan service. He lived in a one bedroom apartment in Staten Island, drove a used pickup, and had a handful of loans himself. He was no one. Unimportant and uninteresting.
Savage hedonism had once been the star around which her unlife revolved, but times had changed and she'd changed with them. There was a reason she'd outlived most other kin she'd known. Natalie was careful. Disciplined. She had a system. A system that involved feeding on the Alans of the world. People no one would miss.
Each month, after thorough investigation, she selected her next meal. Then she met them in some dark, secluded bar, and seduced them. If one could call it that. There was no craft, no challenge. Time had worn away the armor of propriety and made the human populace shallow and eager.
Not that Natalie was one to clutch pearls; she enjoyed a blood drunk night of carnal indulgence as much as the next vampire, but she sometimes missed the process of wearing her prey down, peeling back layer after layer of chaste resolve, until they crumbled and gave in to their base instincts.
Alan had gotten one look at her, running his slimy eyes up and down her body, and she knew he was already hers. All that was left was to suffer his conversation, invite him to her home tomorrow, and โhaving secured a new source of sustenanceโ dispose of last month's prey, presently locked in her basement.
It would be the highlight of Natalie's night. A small taste of her former life. Her monthly treat. Natalie bit her thumb and smiled at him, harnessing the excitement.
"If you keep looking at me with those 'fuck me' eyes, I might get ideas babe."
Natalie pushed away her daydreams and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Boredom was a poor excuse for sloppy work. She still needed to verify that her intel was correct, and lay the groundwork to lure Alan to her home without leaving any evidence.
"Oh?" she purred, "What sort of ideas?"
Her directness seemed to fluster him. He sucked on his teeth as he tried to formulate a suitably witty response. Natalie steeled herself to play along, and settled in for a long night.
"Ideas that would make you blush, pretty girl." He attempted to return her smile, but wore it like a grimace. Alan was a bull of a man, and it occurred to Natalie that were she a human, he would be quite intimidating. Perhaps he would put up more of a fight than Kim had.
Four drinks and an hour of conversation later, Natalie excused herself to the bathroom. She'd accomplished what she needed. Her info was accurate, and she had Alan thoroughly wrapped around her finger.
He was the kind of man who mistook the discomfort he instilled in women for dominance. As they drank he'd grown increasingly gesticulate, throwing his hands around and pounding the table. Luckily she'd chosen one in the back of the bar, tucked away in a dimly lit corner beneath a broken lamp. Anyone who turned at the noise would have trouble making out her features, and even if they had an especially keen eye, that's what the disguise was for.
Natalie dried her hands and gazed into the filthy mirror, half covered in stickers and vulgar messages penned in permanent marker. Her style served to play down her supernatural beauty, reducing her to an attractive, but otherwise unremarkable woman. She wore a cheap pant-suit and wide, thick rimmed glasses, subtly tinted to shift the hue of her irises from red to brown. Her raven hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and a generous layer of makeup served to round out her face and soften the sharp lines of her cheeks and jaw.
Without the veil of her disguise, she was a lithe, strikingly handsome woman. Francesca had called her Volpe. Fox. And just like that, errant memories bubbled up through the cracks in her concentration.
Descending through the cloudless Tuscan sky to alight upon the ironwork railing of Francesca's balcony. Walking the deserted streets hand in hand, taking turns throwing one another into an alley or a darkened alcove to hide whenever they encountered a patrolling guard. Francesca's racing pulse as she carefully ran the tip of her finger along one of Natalie's fangs. Natalie had pretended to bite down, eliciting a yelp followed by a fit of giggles.
Cruel reminders of a better time. She buried them and focused on the present, frowning at her reflection.
She'd matched Alan drink for drink, but her body wouldn't process anything except blood and the alcohol had passed without effect. She could at least look the part, though. She pulled a few strands of hair loose from the ponytail and applied a crimson blush to her cheeks. Satisfied, she left with an appropriately unsteady gait. But when she reached the main room she pulled up short.
Feral anger flared to life deep in her chest, and climbed to her throat. Natalie swallowed it before it became a snarl. Dropping the drunken act, she stepped aside into an alcove with a dilapidated pay phone, and watched the table โher tableโ where Alan now sat with another woman.
*****
Natalie crossed her arms and closed her eyes, focusing. She sifted through the noise in the room. Clinking glasses, the din of conversation, a broadcaster commentating a baseball game, and then Alan's deep voice.
"If my girl comes back and sees you here we're both gonna have problems, doll." he said.
So she was his girl now, was she? Natalie dug her nails into her arm, imagining it was Alan's neck. It would be satisfying to watch him beg for mercy. Then the girl spoke, cutting off Natalie's train of thought.
"Just ditch her. We can go back to your place." Her voice was light and airy, but trembled slightly.
Natalie forced herself to release her tension, and opened her eyes. The girl leaned in, with a hand on Alan's shoulder. He didn't seem to know what to do with the attention besides beam stupidly, proud of his newly discovered allure. Natalie knew better. The girl had an ulterior motive. Why else would she single out a man like Alan sitting alone?
The girl wasn't kin, that much was obvious. Her skin was sun-kissed, and freckles dotted her cheeks. A prostitute, then? No... a bar like this wasn't the right venue, and that would make the hoodie and skin-tight jeans she wore an odd choice, even if she was pretty enough to stand out despite them.
Desire stirred within her. Forget pretty, the girl was gorgeous.
It was impossible to discern much of her upper body, obscured by baggy fabric as it was, but her legs were slender and lean, tapering into a pair of over-sized tennis shoes. Long blonde hair shined against the black fabric of her hoodie, falling mostly straight, but curving at the tips to wreath her shoulders in lazy curls. She gave Alan a smile that pressed her deliciously full lips together, and cut two tiny creases into her cheeks at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were big and bright. Green, Natalie thought, though the color was difficult to pick out through the haze of the bar, even with supernaturally sharp vision.
Now here was a meal she could enjoy.
