Lewis Aleman - The Anti-Vampire

Besides all that, this city grooms belles with attitude and a love for the macabre. This city worships things of the dark and breeds young women with a lust for that which is not common. Delving my teeth into any dainty flesh stirs my senses, but diving into one that poses even a hint of a challenge tastes all the better. One with dark lipstick, playful eyebrows, and intoxicated breath is what drives me.

Speaking of which, the painted piece of fluff kisses the bouncer on the cheek and walks down Toulouse toward the bar her friends have recently entered. Enticing .

I jump down from the top of the dumpster I’ve been sitting on. The bouncer signals to someone inside the bar. A man of similar size appears in the opened French doors beside him, and the bouncer heads after the girl. Bad news for him.

In a few short seconds, I’ll be tasting the sweetness of the pretty thing he’s after, and he’ll be tasting nothing but the after.

The place buzzes like it had two nights before. Libations, celebrations, and gyrations—it echoes, full of the sounds that appease the flesh.

The mass of people bounce as if they are all one body, flinging their hands in the air, surrendering to whatever temptation taunts them the loudest.

I don’t deny any of them their taste of the wild—surely I’ve had my fill here in days past. Although the rhythm is the same now as it was then, I’ve lost my taste for all of this. I long for a sweet treasure left in the woods—left with a she-vamp to look over her. But, if I’m to find a way to get those that hunt her to leave her be, this place is the only chance I have. Slim as it may be.

No longer ‘80s Night, but The Saturday Night Goth/Industrial Ball. Type O Negative’s “Blood & Fire” grooves through the speakers, blanketing the crowd with a dark, sexy vibe. Still an energetic and enthusiastic group of people, but the colors have changed from bright blues and pinks to edges of crimson mated to clothing ranging from black to blacker. Tank tops traded for corsets—short skirts and leg-warmers swapped out for leather and boots. Bright blue eyeliner has turned deep maroon. Red lips painted over like night. Dark and lacy. The more the outfit looks like it could line a coffin, the better.

Truth be told, I loved this night as much as the ‘80s soiree that always came two nights before. They were two different berries from the same wilderness. Both nights for us weirdos, just a separate event for each kind. Somehow I prowled them both. Two tastes to satisfy the same hunger.

Weave between people—edging my way to the dance floor. With every pulse of the bass from the speakers, I can see the blood flashing and shooting through the bodies around me. The bass makes my thoughts waver and flicker to black, on the verge of passing out, and the blood it reveals makes my fangs feel all the longer in my mouth—aching all the more to feed and stop this marathon torture I’ve been inflicting on my body.

Couldn’t feed. Was no time to leave Ruby and find someone to feed on. If I had left, they could’ve found her, helpless while I would’ve been gone. Not safe.

Had I gone to feed when Edgar attacked, she’d be gone now too—or at least in the hands of Roderick. Can’t let that happen.

Silly as it seems, don’t know if I could’ve fed anyway—even if a small town were only yards away from us in the woods. Only her neck seems right to feed from, but her eyes seem wrong to prey upon. Don’t want to dry up, don’t want to press my lips to another’s neck, and can’t look into her eyes and dive into her flesh.

This problem is becoming more important with every second. With every swaying of my mind from my purpose—the one I’m searching for—the reason I’m here, and with every fading of my vision from the drinking and dancing that surrounds me to nothing but black, I know I’ll have to compromise something or die. But for the moment, as Ruby waits under the trees for me, it’ll have to wait. Flesh’ll have to find a way to rise and reach my spirit.

Something grabs my wrist.

Tugging at my arm is a tiny redhead dressed in a deep-red, skintight shirt, black leather skirt, and spiked, black heels. A smile and glossy eyes project an energy much larger than her little body.

Could feast on her neck, regain my strength, stop this wretched aching inside. A week ago, she’d already be wrapped in my arms. Now that I’ve met Ruby, this redhead may as well be as hard as stone, as dry as marble, and as hollow as a cave.

Muster a faint smile and keep walking.

Bass pounds. Vision’s gone. Torso sways.

Feel small hand on my back.

Step forward—vision still not back.

Heavy hand on my shoulder.

Squint eyes hard. Blurry, but can see outlines. Hazy black and white.

Turn around slowly—heavy hand guiding me.

“Well, Simon, seems we keep running into each other.”

The familiar voice stings. The face is still bleary, but the memory is sharp. Colors return, although faded.

“Was looking for you, Roderick,” I say to the blur.

“Were you now?”

Something hazy and red moves to the side of us.

I continue, “Want to put an end to this. Seems we both have things the other wants. Silly to fight.”

“Indeed. So silly to fight when we can take whatever we want.”

His blurry face turns toward the red movement. Squint my eyes again—things become a little clearer. Repeat. Can see again.

Roderick’s forearm slowly pushes against the little redhead’s upper chest as he says, “He’s busy, fire crotch. Find another guy to grind on.”

A thin, well-manicured middle finger extends in his direction as she kisses it and flings it at him.

“No need to be rude, Roderick.”

“She’s not that hot, Simon. And speaking of which, where is the little sweet thing that’s caused all this trouble between us old friends .”

I look to the redhead to apologize on his behalf, but she’s already turned around and has her arms wrapped around another guy with long hair.

“See, she’s fine,” he says putting his hand back at my shoulder, “You worry too much for these temporary beings—they’re pretty resilient for the brief moment that they’re here.”

“Guess you’d know about that better than me.”

“To my office then?”

“Yeah.”

Roderick steps onto the far end of the stage and waves his hand up at Mark in the DJ booth at the end of the balcony. Mark nods his head and flips a switch. Roderick pushes open an emergency exit door beside the stage, and no alarm sounds.

I look to Mark before I follow Roderick, and he raises his opened hands to me. Apparently Roderick hasn’t held a grudge for the pyrotechnics Mark unleashed the other night. Guess Mark’s a useful friend to have in a place so prime for hunting.

At least Mark’s not in danger. At least not for the moment. Roderick has bigger problems to decapitate. I step through the exit, feeling like I’m sticking my head into a guillotine.

Through the emergency exit is a narrow brick alleyway that separates this club from the bar next door. It’s closed in at the front, creating the illusion that the buildings are connected. It’s open out the back, leading to a service driveway and a loading zone, of which only a small portion can be seen from where I stand now.

In that opening I see Carvelli and Quint, standing and watching us. Carvelli grinds his fist in his hand, fangs exposed, and vengeance screaming across his snarling face. Can’t blame him—he’s taken a hell of a beating from me the past few days. The stool was a cheap shot too, but the only way I could get Ruby away from them.