He finally reached the entrance of the club, where a heavily muscled bouncer stood guard at the door. The bouncer took one look at the figure and curtly nodded before moving aside to allow him access.

Kian barely acknowledged the bouncer as he walked through and entered the club. Despite the heavy smoke and low lighting of the room, he made his way easily through the mess of drunkards lying about the ground filled with broken glass and spilled liquor and weaved his way through the thick crowd of dancers still on the dance floor. 

Everywhere he stepped, people could sense something about him and immediately made room to let him pass.

Kian could find no sign of the girl who had previously entered the bar but he continued his way towards the back of the building, where more private rooms could be found.  For a price.

He passed by a couch where a couple lay entangled in each other's arms. The girl raised her head to look at him and he faintly recognized her, someone of his own kind. 

Even in the dark room, he could see that her eyes burned brightly and her fangs dripped with crimson. She languidly wiped her hand across her mouth, smearing the crimson a slow smile across full lips. She glanced down at the man who lay half-conscious beneath her and ran her long fingernails along his arm and made a small precise cut. Immediately, drops of crimson bloomed along the tanned skin, like rubies.

She stared at the Kian in a daring invitation for him to join her but he remained where he was standing. She sensed his purpose and resumed her attention on the man. She lowered her head and began to lick at the wound she had previously made on his neck.

Kian coolly glanced at the man, who writhed beneath her, his eyes closed in pleasure. He knew exactly what the man must have been feeling at that moment.

It is often recognized as ecstasy the sheer feeling of absolute pleasure in which all feelings of pain and loneliness are forgotten and all one can think about is the incredible high.

For his kind, it was known as bloodlust. Without borders to pain and pleasure, control easily sways and the sensation of holding the fragile thread of someone's life in your hand could drive you to the brink of madness.

Kian coolly walked away as the man began to moan in pleasure, his breathing shallow and his heart pumping weaker with each second as his life was slowly drained away.

He turned the corner and entered a dark hallway, his keen eyes recognizing the girl and the man struggling at the other end.

As Kian slowly approached, he could hear the girl calmly respond, her voice lost among the humming of the music drifting from the door.

He took a step closer, observing the two.

The man was a reeking mess of too many late night drinking and infrequent change of clothing. His oversized gut hung well over his belt and the muscles he used to have merely jiggled unappealingly as he raised his hand and slapped her. 

“If you won't tell me, then I'll make you.” He sneered, slamming her into the wall.

She coolly lifted her chin in defiance but that only served to anger him and he slapped her. The force was enough to violently turn her head.

The girl just stared silently at him, unmoving even as blood dripped from the cut on her face. The man easily held her arms above her head and ripped her blouse open.

Kian felt his arms immediately tighten, his long fingers balling up and clenching into fists. He was indifferent to many of the things that occurred in the world. Without a second thought, he could easily turn his back from the sight of the hungry, the dying, and the homeless. He was well aware that there would always be poverty and war everywhere. It was simply one of the harsh truths of life and therefore reality.

But nothing enraged him more than bastards forcing themselves onto the helpless.