My first lecture of the day is Folklore and the Supernatural with Professor Mackus—a scruffy man in his late forties with dark circles under his eyes the size of saucers. I can see the tiredness he tries to hide with abnormal amounts of coffee from fifty feet away. What most humans will say is a bad night's sleep, I already know is chronic insomnia. Given the subject he teaches, I conclude Professor Mackus actually believes in the supernatural and is not just doing this for a check.
My eyes scan the lecture hall until they land on a female sitting in the far depths of the room, away from human interaction. Her name is Amara—a seemingly ordinary psychology major. She doesn't have many friends despite being part of multiple student organizations because there's something about her that stops her from ever pursuing close relationships. She doesn't know it yet, but she's about to become my best friend.
I choose the seat right next to hers. "Hi."
Amara regards me with furrowed brows and pursed lips, but she responds anyway, "Hi," though it sounds more like a question. I watch as she pulls out her notebook and moves an inch away from me to create distance between us. She bows her head instantly, using her dark ringlets to cover her golden brown face, making it clear she doesn't want to be bothered.
My gaze drops to her laptop where I see an array of stickers of anime characters. "I love your laptop stickers," I say, "you watch Naruto?"
The girl's eyes drop to her laptop as though she doesn't know what I am referring to. "Oh, yeah." She smiles at me, and I know that's how I get to her. "You a fan?"
"'Course. I love anime."
"Wow, what's your favorite?"
"It'd have to be a tie between Death Note and Mushishi."
Amara's grin widens then as she realizes I am not a threat. "I'm Amara."
I return the smile as the thought of being reunited with my fiancée enters my mind. "Chloe. I'm new—just transferred here from Hawaii. Is there anything I need to know about Mackus?"
"Great teacher," she tells me, "bad person."
I can't help but raise an eyebrow. "Why?"
The subject excites her because her smile morphs into a grin and she straightens herself in her seat. "See that girl right there?" She motions towards the front row where a petite female with pin-straight blonde hair sits. She's seated with a direct line to Professor Mackus and she stares at him intently, not once breaking eye contact. "He's sleeping with her."
I laugh. "That makes him a bad person."
"Oh, no, it doesn't, but he's also sleeping with the brunette in the third row." My gaze turns to the aforementioned brunette. "And the guy sitting next to her."
"So, is that how I'll get an A in this class?"
Amara slumps forward and shrugs her shoulders. She's already getting comfortable with my presence, so I know it won't be long until I get her to do what I want. "Pretty much, or you can use the fact that he's sleeping with the entire student body and blackmail him into giving you an A ... but I already did that."
The class begins with Professor Mackus talking about the history of succubi, tracing the creature back to biblical times in Judaic mythology. He notes Lilith, the mother of all demons, as being the first succubus, but it's just conjecture to me. There are far worse beings than someone who feeds off sexual energy. It's possible to escape the charm of a succubus if one doesn't succumb to their own desire, but it's nearly impossible to escape a vampire unless the vampire wills it. My craving for blood is strong—there's not a moment that goes by where I don't think of it—and so, I'm always able to capture my target, dead or alive. The need for blood gives me my power, just like the need of a starving man gives him the strength to rid himself of his inhibitions.
I feed at night because it is when I am at my strongest. The sunlight does not do much to weaken me, other than make my eyes irritated, but it's something I've learned to overcome with time. I'm not picky with my choice in blood as it is all the same to me, but I know I am unable to feed on humans for the time being since I don't want to invoke fear on a college campus.
It's almost eight when I return to my apartment that I share with an overzealous graduate student who is the definition of a pretty girl with low self-esteem. In the short time that I've lived here, I've seen her go on dates with multiple men, and I've seen her be overly hopeful about each one, only to have them disappoint her in the end. I'm amazed at her drive to keep trying, but perhaps if she didn't try so hard, she would actually be successful.
Except when I step through the threshold of our quaint two bedroom, I'm met with a strange man sitting in the kitchen, helping himself to one of my beers. The soft yellow light overlooking the kitchen island is the only source of light in the room, but I am still able to see him clearly as though it is daylight. He's older, much older than Lilly usually dates, as evidenced by his greying facial hair, and he's unusually pale for someone who lives in Louisiana; his blue veins pulse beneath his almost-grey flesh.
"Hello," I say, dry, as my gaze fixates on his lips around the rim of my bottle. "Where's Lilly?"
"Lilly," he drawls out in a southern twang. "Lilly went out to get us some food, but you—" His lips spread into an unsettling grin, "—I've never seen you 'round before. Who are you, pretty?"
I sigh. It isn't a surprise that Lilly leaves her washed up scraps alone in our apartment without any supervision, but I am too thirsty to entertain today. "Someone who is getting quite annoyed with your presence."
This somehow amuses him. "Hmph, you're funny. I like that." He raises his index in the air and twirls it around. "Actually, you're much cuter than Lilly is." I stalk towards him and snatch the beer out of his hands. He is surprised at first, but his countenance only continues to turn into that of amusement. He doesn't know what I am, so he thinks he has the upper hand. "And feisty, too—love it."
"You gotta go," I tell him because I am seconds away from ripping out his jugular.
"Why, when we're just starting to have fun?"
I lean against the kitchen counter and fold my arms against my chest, studying him closely. "If you don't leave, you'll surely regret it."
His smile deepens as he stands to his full height and starts to walk towards me. His grin never leaves his face as he draws nearer, eliminating any remnant of space between us. At such a close distance, I'm able to hear the blood coursing through his veins and the loud and rather erratic beat of his heart. His blood smells particularly sweet, as is always the case with misguided and troubled souls like himself, and it instantly sends a sharp tingle through my gums. He towers over me by a few inches, and there's no doubt in my mind that he uses his height and build to take advantage of other, less physically-inclined females—it's probably how he wooed his way into Lilly's pants. But his sudden interest in me isn't entirely his fault. There's something about me that naturally draws humans to me; it's something I've never quite been able to explain.
"You want me, don't you?" he slurs.
"Yes," I say with a smile, though I'm sure he doesn't know what I really mean.
"Good." My eyes follow his every move, right down to the moment he traces his calloused hands down my arms and bends his head to close the gap between our lips. My head falls back just as my lips peel to expose my teeth. My fangs protrude from my gums almost instantly, as though they know it's time to feed, and I latch onto his exposed neck—a move that renders him completely paralyzed.
Unable to say much other than to let out a strained grunt, he falls onto me as the rich taste of the blood from his carotid artery pools into my mouth at a steady rate. My fingers find their way into his disheveled hair to hold his head firm while my fangs penetrate deeper and I begin to suck harder, pulling in as much blood as I can physically handle. His heart begins to work overtime to supply blood to my mouth. The speed at which I drink makes him weaker, his skin paler, until his eyes flutter shut, and he drifts into unconsciousness.
He won't remember any of this—they rarely do—but even so, I can't help myself from drawing in more of his life force. He tastes delectable, almost like what I remember honey tasting like, and I know I want more of him. He can live if I only take 2 liters, but I can't stop—not when he offered himself to me so easily. He was kind enough to save me the hassle of hunting tonight, so I promise to do his blood justice.
It only takes two minutes for him to lose blood circulation, and it's not long after that when his other organs begin to fail. He's on the brink of death when I release my hold on him, causing his body to drop to the floor. I stand over him, watching, as he takes his last breath. My hands instinctively reach for the beer he was so rudely indulging earlier, and I take a sip to cleanse my throat.
As he lays in the middle of my kitchen floor with the last of his blood pooling onto the mahogany wood, I feel my mouth twisting into a slight frown. I don't enjoy killing people, but I do enjoy satiating my thirst—a complex I've grappled with for seven hundred years. I feel remorse, but only shortly, before I begin to clean up the mess I've made before my roommate returns.
She'll ask where he is, maybe, and she'll have the slight suspicion that I've slept with him in her absence, which would be somewhat true. Drinking is like having sex to me. She won't cry about it, though, because she'll have already moved on to the next guy that gives her the littlest bit of attention.
I lay in bed that night, staring at my victim's driver license. He's an organ donor (how fitting) and not local to New Orleans, so it will be a while before people start to miss him if he even has anyone to miss. When the police find his remains, they'll think coyote before they think vampire, so I am safe for the meanwhile.
I close my eyes to rest, and I dream of Wymond.
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