He caught her at the edge of town, feeding.
Disgust clawed at his stomach as he watched her devour the tiny bundle, teeth ripping at flesh, blood flowing from the corners of her mouth. How could he have allowed this to happen? Stopping to rest during the long chase, he'd taken his eyes off her for only the briefest matter of time; time enough for her to procure a baby.
Self-hatred coursed through his body. Somewhere an innocent mother was catatonic, collapsing in horror beside an empty bassinette; and all because he'd given in to human weakness, allowing himself to recoup because the chase had become more exciting than the kill.
No longer.
Soundlessly he withdrew the wooden stake from his belt, not needing to weigh it in his hands, not needing to adjust his grip because the stake was a part of himself, an extension of his body. He raised his arm, gathering himself to rush forward and strike.
"You misjudge me."
Her voice was a rich caress, cushioning his thoughts in dark velvet. He froze, muscles tensing.
How could she speak to him so when he hadn't felt the push against his mind, hadn't felt the psychic heat that signalled he'd been sensed and found? His defences were better than that, equipped to repel the strongest will.
Frowning, he warily lowered the stake, but not his guard, ready and waiting for the flurry of her predictable attack. Demons had their tricks, he knew them well – knew enough to project uncertainty when he was anything but. The lure and the bait were as important as the long hunt.
Her head lifted; her long, elegant, hair shimmying down her back like a river of black satin. The electric thrill of it held his eye.
She knew who he was, knew he would be dressed from tip to toe in black, knew that he wore a heavy, gold cross against his heart, knew that the jagged scar across his right cheek heightened his fierce magnificence. She'd been waiting for this moment for over a hundred years.
Slowly she turned and raised her prize for him to see. He stared at it, unmoved, accustomed to atrocities and visions of insanity, but what she held startled him in a way that nothing had for centuries.
It was a lamb, a piteous newborn lamb, not human flesh. For all the death and destruction he'd witnessed, sight of the bloodless creature shocked him unspeakably.
He blinked, unconvinced – a trick of the moonlight, some impossible sleight of hand his enhanced eyes had missed.
What sort of creature would condescend to animal blood when the sounds of the festival stirred the night? Sounds of small, vulnerable children playing in the darkness, the majority of whom were wilfully, wantonly separated from their parents, their protectors. Easy targets.
"Do you see?" she asked.
He said nothing, wondering what new evil this was, what fresh challenge he had encountered.
"Ah." She laughed – a ripple of strength and sweetness that stole his breath. "You see, but you refuse to believe."
"What are you?" he demanded, ashamed of the raw emotion in his voice. Not fear – never fear – but a telling combination of curiosity and need.
"You know what I am." She stepped closer, revealing her face beneath the lamplight, her exquisite, alabaster beauty marred only by the blood on her chin, the vicious curl of her lip above the glint of white, elongated fangs. "Why else have you hungered for me, stalked me, tracked me to this place over seven long nights? You know what I am."
"Yet you haven't partaken of human blood." Again he felt shame – shame that he had deigned to speak to her, shame that the mystery of her had stopped him from ending her life when he was close enough to drive the stake through her heart.
She laughed again – she had known that she would confound him.
The sound tightened his loins, rolling around him like a maddening haze, bringing to mind visions of tangled sheets and candlelight.
"I am what I am," she said plainly, dropping the bundle to her feet and running the back of her hand over her mouth and chin, rubbing the red liquid from her skin. Her fangs retracted while she spoke, leaving a beautiful woman – no more, no less – and a sudden impression of innocence that rocked him to the core.
"I ask myself why you would bother with me when there are countless others more deserving of your attention," she pondered.
He didn't answer because she was unworthy of an answer; so far beneath his consideration that justifying himself would only drag him down to her level. He took the prey that crossed his path – that was all. There was no need to distinguish between qualities of evil. He had the time, the power and the patience to eventually hunt them all; to end the stain of darkness upon the earth.
Rushing her with preternatural speed he pinned her against the lamppost. Her strength was great but his was mightier. It surprised him that she put up so little fight when he manacled her hands behind her back, chaining her in place. He stepped back, waiting for the beast to emerge – it went against the grain to slay her in her human form.
She seemed like a sweet virgin, a pure woman of good thought and deed. He knew better.
Angry all of a sudden, the ice cold righteousness that preceded a kill failed to descend over him.
"Change," he demanded.
"No." Her luminous eyes defied him, her head twisting to the side showing him the smooth porcelain column of her throat, the graceful knot that lifted and fell as she swallowed her fear. "Kill me as I am."
"Change," he demanded, louder, his jaw contracting as he slapped her hard across the face.
"No," she said softly, staring him in the eye with a sorrow that skewered his perception. He'd encountered hatred, contempt, mania, but this? Her psyche pierced his guard long enough to comprehend that it wasn't herself she felt sorry for, but him.
Her pity enraged him.
"Change you devil," he yelled, backhanding her with a fury that rammed her head sideways and back in to the post.
"No." She righted herself and shook her head sadly, a tear tracing down over one smooth cheek. "I won't. I'm not a monster. I breathe the same as you do."
His gaze dropped to her chest, taking in the low cut of her dress, the delicate rise and fall of her sumptuous breasts. Her cleavage was a dark valley in the lamplight, a black ravine that called to him. The stake twitched in his hand while another sturdier beast came to life, his trousers suddenly painfully tight.
Her tear floored him. To grasp that evil was capable of such deceit...capable of tears.
Dropping the stake he whirled away from her, furiously trying to overcome his heated body, struggling to restore his focus. He drew the bottle of holy water from his pocket and turned back, a dangerous smile hardening his lips.
"Do you know what this is?"
She nodded slowly, her unwavering eyes never leaving his face.
"You want to hurt me first, to burn me with hate. You want to validate your kill. So be it."
Her stoicism, her – dare he think it – courage, almost had his admiration. Almost. If she wasn't a filthy, defiled creature, he would find room in his heart for mercy, but he didn't have a heart, he didn't believe in mercy. The only thing that truly affected him was her lack of terror – usually sight of the bottle was plenty enough to bring out the beast.
He unstoppered the flask, ready to fling the contents in her face...but couldn't. Her unearthly beauty was astounding. To ruin such a visage was akin to defacing a priceless Monet. Instead he went behind her and poured the tiniest amount on her wrist.
Her scream tore the heavens asunder, masking the sizzle of bubbling skin. The smell of charred flesh assaulted his nostrils. With a practised ease he retrieved his stake from the ground and waited for the results to tell.
His efforts were futile. He'd never experienced such will before, never met anyone capable of trapping the vampire within, had never suspected such power from a mere girl.
"It burns, it burns," she screamed. "Oh God, please help me. Oh Father who art in heav–"
He slammed his fist in to her temple, aghast at her blasphemy, incensed at the words of prayer falling from her corrupt lips.
"Change you fucking bitch. CHANGE!" he screamed at her.
Head bowed, her beast remained dormant but he caught a whisper of words, a chant of Latin so low that even his unnatural ears couldn't gather it. With a fistful of hair he wrenched her head up, cursing when he saw the whites of her eyes. She'd fallen in to some kind of devil trance.
He pushed in to her mind expecting darkness, the black void that he'd found in every vampire he'd ever killed. As such, his mind was open, totally unprepared for the dazzling white that hit him, searing his brain and blasting him backwards.
When he came to she was slumped at the foot of the post, out cold.
***
For six days she defied his attempts to rouse her.
He'd carried her home refusing to examine the reasons why he hadn't staked her and moved on; at the very least left her for the sunlight to consume. He told himself it was his peculiar sense of honour – his reluctance to kill unless the beast was at the fore. He consoled himself with the excuse that her unusual mind needed further examination.
Not once did he admit to himself that her stunning face and the potential of her voluptuous cleavage had a potent hold on him.
He didn't dare risk entering her mind again but he did resort to methods both foul and bloody to bring her around.
Shallow cuts on her thighs elicited no response. Pushing her dress up around her waist had been a necessary evil. The discovery that she wore no underwear and the explicit vision of her hairless mound had haunted him ever since.
His blood thickened in his veins every time he thought of it. It had taken all his strength to pull away, every ounce of willpower to not touch her, not slide his fingers over the tempting quim, not spread her legs and behold the secrets within, not lower his head and steal her unique flavour with his tongue.
