The hour of rising had fallen on Connor with a moonbeam across his face, awakening him like thunder. The drapes were fashioned by hand from soft black leather with Celtic knotting endlessly scrawled across them. With a light gesture of his hand he opened them, letting the pale moonlight, filtered through the oak branches outside, spill into his chamber.
He rose naked and pulled a pair of black leather pants over his legs. He stretched and a dozen
ripples appeared on his back and shoulders, disappearing again as he relaxed and exhaled. Now he reached for the black silk shirt. It was a flat silk, the only shimmer coming from its onyx buttons. He stepped into his soft leather boots and walked out his already opened French doors onto the terrace. He stepped light-footed onto the wall and with another he was on the roof of his home. Ambling across the tops of the Manhattan brownstones, he made his way to Fifth Avenue and stepped down to the sidewalk after assuring his privacy. The oblivion of human perception would always be the greatest ally of his kind.
Central Park was dark and fresh smelling. He took in all the autumn air he could and enjoyed this park. His park. One few others ever saw. They were afraid to see it at night. They never saw it with his eyes. They were afraid of all of the wrong things. Happenstance muggings and rapes. Easily recovered from. At least they would be if their victims knew their other fates. The fates their attackers unknowingly saved them from.
But Connor was not here for that yet. Perhaps later on his way home. Now he was being pulled to the West Side. There was something there he had to fix. Something was wrong in his city. He knew it the moment he breathed the air on his terrace.
He entered the bar he was divined to, and instantly knew the problem. His territory had been breached. He looked for his competition. At the other end of the room he saw her. Her pulse thundered in his mind. The heartbeat was strong. She had just fed. It was evident. A powerful killer. It remained to be seen who was the more powerful, but at the time this was not even an issue. They both lamented, if only for an instant, that the other was a feeder. They each wanted the other to be their victim. The second wish was of course that they could be each other's victims.
She felt a soothing chilly breeze blow through her. He was reading her. She obliged, but sparingly, as did he when she attempted to return the gesture. He had not yet lost his sexuality but was quite old. There was a great body of common ground between them. Their eyes locked and he read her. Maraya, a Turk. Older than he. Equally as strong. More vicious, more violent, and she hated him. She had no respect for the borders of any, and had not yet been forced from any hunting ground, though many had tried.
He approached her with an elegant gate, and she stood still, her eyes the only betrayal of life. They blazed brown and lit her caramel skin. It was smooth and soft yet gave a sense of durability over time…like oiled leather. Her features were sharp, but not dramatic. Her frame was small and curvy. She wore denims and a small shirt with midriff showing and her full cleavage lay between the long suede coat she wore. It was a brown lighter than her eyes and only somewhat darker than her coffee colored skin.
He watched her as he walked. He observed her legs stretching out from under her long coat. No longer feeling his presence in her mind, she allowed herself to be aroused. He was not guarding but she didn't read him anyway. He was not even blocking as a human would. It was old-fashioned flirtation. That, of course, would never go out of style. Not even in their world.
She moved forward. Now her hips held his attention and as they rolled towards him she knew he was seeing it in slow motion. He loved her walk, and made it known. He was thinking of drinking from her inner thigh. His eyes floated further upward over her stomach and chest. He was impressed by both. She was impressed by the way he admired. There was explosive lust, but it was not rooted in the archaic human inclination to simply pass on genetic material. His hormones were in fact reacting to a desire from a higher place; one neither remembered ever having as a human. But who could be sure. It had been so long since then.
Now they were within five feet of each other. His eyes were so different from the last ones. Green and rich. So full of color, for the eyes of a vampire. Still, they were vibrant, though dark. It couldn't be helped really. He had to be taken. Discreetly, he chipped his glass and cut his tongue on it so that she could see it. So unnecessary for them, yet there was such a satisfaction in seeing it with her eyes. He knew this. He glared as she bared her left canine and drew her tongue along it, slicing it down the middle. She then passed it into his mouth. When he pulled away she smiled at his discomfort. She believed he was intimidated. But no sooner had the thought entered her head than she realized he had begun guarding. She realized too, that whatever had happened at his sight of her, arousal was not his intention when he entered the bar. He was not here for blood or lust. He now remembered his purpose.
"Battle." He said.
