Vampires get a bad rap. Sure, some of us are monsters–taking our thirsts to extremes, leaving dead bodies, battered and drained, in the wake of our lusts. But where others manipulate, I–charm. Where others feed without restraint, I go easy. Could be it’s all about perspective. Or maybe, it’s just a matter of style. Whatever, there’s no need for the kind of bloody violence I’ve witnessed in this damn town. I’ve seen lives taken out before their time, but this morgue’s getting thick with bodies. And last night, I shared a drink with the one who sent ’em here.
She was sitting at one end of the long, oak bar at 10 Seconds & Counting–which is about how long it took me to recognize the bloodlust in her eyes. She was knocking back shots of Old Grandad with Jim Beam chasers. A bit rough around the edges, but she had that ‘time with me is time well spent’ sort of look about her. And I’m always looking for a way to spend time. I caught her eyes, or maybe she caught mine. Either way, by the time the bartender set my drink in front of me, she was setting herself down next to me.
The place was crowded, so she had to sit real close. She waved for another round, sniffed my drink and said, “So you’re a scotch man. Smooth or rough?”
“That depends on my mood,” I said. “But I always start with smooth.”
“Same here. I’m betting we could get along,” she said. “But you should know my mood changes real fast. Think you can keep up?”
“I’ve never been accused of not being able to keep up.”
She laughed, a throaty sort of laugh that started deep and stayed strong. “You’ll do.” She looked me over, licking her lips when she reached my mouth, and said, “and probably more than once.” She finished her drink, and her chaser, and then said, “So, you hungry yet?” She showed me a quick flash of her fangs, and I felt mine start to grow in response.
“I’m always hungry, doll.” I signaled the bartender for the tabs, paid both, and then said, “What did you have in mind?”
And then she showed me.