INSTINCT: His was to bite me. Mine was to run.
I knew it. Everything about him was dangerous. I didn't need a brain to tell me that. It was clear in the way my entire body reacted to him. It wasn't just telling me to be careful, it outright demanded that I run for my life.
Except my feet were glued to the ground. I was completely incapable of moving even an inch.
His stare was deadly. It told me that as much as my instinct was to run, his was something altogether more sinister. His instinct, whatever it was, was one that warranted mine.
In that moment, with that small distance between us, I knew I should run. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to run for my life. But logically, I knew I'd never win. Even on that very first day, I knew I couldn't outrun him.
I knew I wouldn't live.
Everette:
It's been a long time since I was human. So long, in fact, that I can no longer recall the once precious memories of that small, insignificant fraction of time. The things that once mattered deeply to the human me are long gone and completely forgotten.
I don't remember my sister's name or the sound of my mother's voice. Neither can I recollect the face of the woman I once loved.
All I have now is time, blood, and death.
Too much time. Never enough blood. And a death that comes to everyone but me.
Sitting in an almost completely hidden corner of the café, I watch her as she busies herself behind the counter. I can smell her blood from here as it pulses through her veins.
If I was human, the scent of her blood would be unnoticeable. Instead, I'd notice her large, sparkly eyes or something equally sickeningly sentimental. Or I'd lose my mind over her tiny waist and long legs—just like the human men around me.
I'm not the only one watching her. They are too. Dozens of them. Some sitting alone, their eyes focused on her. Others in packs, talking about her in hushed voices so that she won't hear as they place lots on the size of her breasts.
I'm not the only one that wants her. Nowhere close. But I'm the only one whose interest is deadly.
Another waitress approaches my table and asks for my order. She's pretty, her blood is pulsing just like the other waitress's, but it's not the same.
Ordering an Americano, I barely look her way before returning my attention to the woman behind the counter.
Her hair is jet black and piled on her head in a bun. It's messy, like she shoved it up on her way to work after sleeping in. If I had to guess, I'd say she's about twenty-five or twenty-six.
There's a book on the counter beside her and she keeps, as if instinctively, reaching for it. The pages are old, worn, some turned at the corner. It's a book she's read not once or twice, but countless times.
'Farah, why don't you take your break?' Another employee says casually, his voice low.
She smiles at him, seemingly not registering the effect that slight gesture has on him. Her hand once more reaches for the book, this time picking it up. Then she's walking out from behind the counter.
A sea of eyes follows her as she makes her way across the room.
She walks right past my table and the scent of her blood is so potent that I almost follow her through the door labelled 'staff only.'
Killing her would be quick. Easy. Done before anyone even noticed. But that would be a waste. Her blood was made to be savoured.
My eyes trained on the door, I wait, hopeful that she will return. I begin to count the seconds as I struggle to control myself. If I was a lesser vampire, I'd be long gone through that door and Farah would already be dead.
More like stone than a person, I force myself to stay in my seat, barely even breathing as I wait impatiently. The other waitress returns with my coffee and I don't so much as look at her.
She tries to make conversation, commenting that she's never seen me here before. I don't tell her that she's right. I also don't tell her that I followed Farah here. She'd be calling the police within seconds, not that they'd do her any good.
Another human calls out to the waitress and she has no choice but to leave me alone, her face crestfallen.
It's almost an hour later when Farah returns, her book still in hand. Her eyes meet mine for a split second as she walks past my table again. I see fear there and it's exhilarating.
My eyes follow her as she returns to her place behind the counter. I'm practically salivating at the mere idea of drinking her blood as I lean back in my chair, playing with my signet ring, seemingly at ease. I might look calm, but I'm not. Nowhere close.
It would take seconds; I could be across the café in two, my fangs at her neck in half and she'd be dead in another three, long before the others around us would even realise that something was wrong.
The temptation is almost unbearable.
Standing, I pull out my wallet and drop a couple of notes on the table to pay for my coffee. Then I take a step towards her before hesitating. I tell myself not to waste her blood; a quick death just wouldn't do her taste justice.
So, instead, I make to walk past her, telling myself that I can wait. Reaching out quicker than she can see, I take her dog-eared book from where she's left it on the counter before making my way towards the door, all the while telling myself that I must not look back. It would only take a brief moment of hesitance for all my self-control to crumble.
Crossing the road, I settle in to wait for her shift to end. I lift her book to get a better look at it. My lips twitch when I see the cover. Her book is about vampires.
It's almost laughable. Only humans would fancy themselves in love with their natural predator.