I scented him before I ever saw him. Drakkar Noir, as suitable as any could be. He continued on past me, unawares of me watching him. A finely formed head sat on large, broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs. He stood over six feet, and walked with a calm authority. He radiated the need to be left alone by the rest of society. He ducked inside a small, exclusive bar, and intrigued, I followed him, slipping past the bouncer as a wisp of shadow.
After he sat and ordered a drink, I walked up and sat at the next stool over. He watched as I ordered a drink, as I knocked it back without even a moments' hesitation.
"Can I buy you another?" Damion asked the darkly attired woman next to him.
"As you wish," she replied tossing her long, dark hair back over her shoulder, "My name is Arandiel."
"And mine is Damion. What brings you to The Devil's Keep? This isn't a usual refuge for one as striking as you," he replied, looking at her more fully.
She is dressed in tight leather pants, with a low-cut, laced shirt and a long trench coat. She is the very essence of sexuality, looking like she could eat even someone like me whole. And yet there is a palpable edge there as well. A bit of danger lurking under the surface, something you wouldn't perceive at first unless you really looked into her.
"Those are beautiful tattoos you have Damion," she says running her finger up my arm. Chills follow in its path, leaving my flesh quivering with excitement. She seems dangerous, yet all the more alluring because of it.
I see the look in his eye. He is as good as gone, lured by the mystery and the need to find out what I offer. He doesn't even recognize the basic instincts that cause his pulse to quicken with something just a little past desire and excitement. Some deep-ingrained instinct recognizes me for what I am, and pulls his mind away, but his body speaks a different tongue entirely, wanting every decadence I can offer. It longs to sate itself on my body, and then slumber next to me until late into the next day.
"They were designed by a close friend of my father's," he says, "someone a bit outside the influence of popular culture."
"Many of life's most affluent people are. Such a shame really, to outcast people based on trendy thinking instead of true crimes or social inability." She sighed, her personal thoughts weighing heavily on her.
"What can I do to make you happier? It must be a crime against nature for such a beautiful creature such as you to be so sad. You could make the angels in heaven weep", I asked her.
"Not much makes me happy, allows me to forget," she said, "Fighting these feelings is not an easy task."
"I bet I can think of something." He said, leaning in closer, his lips gently taking mine.
I smiled as the kiss got deeper, his tongue intruding into my mouth, tentatively, teasing, making me want more. I began to wonder if I could do this. He was so genuinely concerned; all I wanted to do was tell him all. Maybe if I could get it off my chest I could finally connect in a way I never could with others, even when I was alive. The centuries I had passed as the undead hadn't exactly helped me get closer to others, in fact it did the exact opposite. Not that I could blame people, what's so sexy about being with someone who has no pulse and hasn't for over a hundred years. No amount of sex appeal can bring back that mood.
As he cupped the back of my head, I slowly came up for air.
"Maybe we should go somewhere a bit more friendly...." I whispered, looking deep into his eyes. Compelling him to obey, though I doubt it was necessary.
"My apartment is across town," he says, looking down in frustration.
"No matter, mine is but a breath away," I purred in his ear.