Ever since I was little, I was told to be afraid. Afraid of the darkness, of what might lurk in the shadows on a bloodless night; to hide from the creatures that make no sound, whose anguished hearts have long since ceased to beat.
'A vampire is the world's perfect predator,' I was once told. 'Seduce you with a smile, a wink, a caress of your cheek, a kiss on your lips. Then they will rip your wings off with their bare hands, leave you flightless; yet in their tight embrace of death, enchanted, you would not even struggle.
Not even as they drained each thick drop of blood from your pulsing veins. Vampires are as masterful as they are cruel, they would like nothing greater than to play the overlord in a game of life and death, of love and lies. To them, you are a trifle, a plaything to tempt and toy with. If you think you are anything more, then you have already fallen for their trap.'
I had thought for a while, about blood stained lips. Of what it might feel to be kissed the way a vampire might, to feel their heartless skin beneath my fingers and slip away into a drugged sense of death and disaster; of what it might be to dance into the night with creatures who were just as bewitching as they were deadly. It was a child's thought, a fantasy that might dare to reach into a territory where a vampire could be 'pleasant'. And yet, there was some idea, some deadly, fantastical idea which too easily finds itself latched onto the mind of a child, that slowly turned my fear into curiosity.
'You must be afraid, your life depends on it.'
I recall those words now as I stare into the strange creature's eyes, my sword slipping from my grip, hands slippery with blood that is not my own. A thick crimson trail trickles down his mouth, soft lips parted, cruel fangs gleaming like knives, only far more deadly. He smiles at me with a wicked grin, dangerous, lovely, monstrous, kicking away the sword as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience.
And I grin too, pulling him in by his collar, my eyes gleaming nefariously, my pulse racing from the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of playing with fire and not getting burnt.
I left my fear behind a long time ago.
I catch murmurs my name, a cold husky growl, his raven taloned fingers pressing onto my arm; his touch is gentle, but his eyes are wild. Stuck between wanting me dead and never wanting me to die. He watches me with hungry eyes, glimmers of crimson ruby catching in their depths, swirling, intoxicating.
The creature knows my secret, and I know his. So I smile, a cruel, wide smile, realising that I have become just as much a villain as the one that stands before me, that despite everything, my blood runs just as cold as his. And with a red soaked finger tracing shadows of my heart, he whispers that he knows it to be true.
They say a vampire is the world's perfect predator, that it would take him little under an hour to have me dead. I should have been dead weeks ago.
Maybe, I already am.