Eloise found someone. A male. One of their own kind.

I should have realised. I shouldn't have waited so long. I should tear him apart, devour him. How dare he touch what's mine. No! No. They're not mine yet.

Focus. Look at her smile. Eloise never smiled like that at me. I should be happy for her. I should be normal about this...I should...I should watch. Just for a little while. Yes, that's right. I will watch for now, just to make sure she’s safe.

Maybe...If I'm lucky. Eloise will grow tired of this one and leave him.

I will get another chance.

And even if I don’t … maybe I can make one.

*                          *                   *

His name is Cameron, the ungrateful BASTARD!

He doesn't appreciate the gift he's been blessed with.

It’s been a year and seven months. Exactly one year, seven months, 2 days, and 13 hours of TORTURE.

At first, I could tolerate it.

Eloise was happy.

The only pain was mine, but her smile, oh her smile was my solace. Our midmorning walks in the park my paradise. Her stories were filled with tales of bliss and just when I thought I could bear it no longer and turn to leave she would look for me, honey-golden whispers drawing me back.

They want me.

She still cares. Making the effort to keep seeing me, despite the extra cleansing routine she will have to go through when returning to her precious Cameron.

How could I not love such resilience … such independence.

Her strength and joy, it inspired me to stay.

I wanted so badly to reveal myself. To prove that I could offer her everything he can. Or just to give her a reason to take me home.

At one point I almost allowed her to catch me in a cage, the veterinarian would be able to confirm that my scales fur would not trigger Cameron’s allergy and then she could take me home. Any contact is better than none.

I snapped to my senses just in time and ran. I cannot afford to take unnecessary risks.

Every day I would hunt and feed and wait for her. Indulging in our short dates and basking in her warmth.

Our routine continued. Until one day, after a year of existing in limbo, the routine changed.

Slowly, her stories took a strange turn, becoming dull and lifeless. Day by day, week by week, the visits to the park became less frequent. Eloise would apologise for being late and, more worryingly, seemed to find it harder to smile. Until eventually … she just … stopped coming to visit me.

Why? WHY? Wasn’t I good enough? You can't abandon me now!

I tried to find another way into her life. A hairless cat, a stray dog, a friendly fox, a robin with a broken wing, all proved too difficult a cover; their boyfriend doesn’t like any animals it seems.

Since I wasn’t welcome in their home, I could only linger in the vicinity. But I could only learn so much from glances through closed windows and infrequent snatches of conversation overheard while walking between the car and the front door.

Cameron’s voice grated on my ears, full of pressure and venom. Eloise’s voice was soft and leaked melancholic apologies.

It seemed that their romantic bliss had soured.

That should have made me happy. The prospect of his imminent departure from my love’s life should have filled me with the thrill of triumph and relief.

But it didn’t.

Instead, I felt … hot … and angry. Like there was a burning coal in my chest, searing my flesh and incinerating all I ate to ash, so that the hunger didn’t abate no matter how I tried to satisfy it. No matter how many times I shifted or looked within, I couldn’t find the source of the pain.

And no matter how long I waited, Cameron did not leave. They did not send him away.

But I couldn’t leave now. I had to know why. Why won’t he go? Why won’t they get rid of him? Why won’t they look at me?

A more in-depth investigation was required. So, I went back to older, previously tested methods of approach.

A child in need.

A stranger on the bus.

A new cashier at their local store.

Eventually my efforts paid off. Following them provided some answers. While following Cameron … provided a few more.

I learned what was wrong.

I learned why they changed.

Cameron.

He’s responsible.

He has spoiled her. That spark has diminished. Her light has been strangled by venomous words and barbed lies. The strength has been leeched from her voice. Precious skin marred by the blue and yellowing remnants of bruises peeking out from beneath a collar or hidden by poorly applied concealer. He hurt her. How dare he hurt her!

And yet, she still smiles at him. She still wanted him.

Eloise is too perfect, too trusting, too wonderful, so kind, so forgiving. He does not deserve her.

She should be mine. MINE! My love. My Eloise!

Wait. Natürlich! (Of course) How could I not have thought of it before!

She’s so divine, so distracting. I was so caught up in the euphoria of watching her, of talking to her, that I’d forgotten … I CAN have them.

I can be anyone I want.

But she doesn’t want just anyone. She wants Cameron.

That DRECKSAU! (shithead). He doesn’t deserve them.

If she were mine, I would never hurt her like he has. How dare he ensnare her with lies when he doesn’t even want her.

But it’s alright because I want her. I will create the opportunity to make her mine.

I can take his place. I will build her back up. I can give her everything he refuses to.

I deserve her smile.

I deserve her love.

I want her.

I WANT her.

I want her.

The pain in my chest hasn’t gone yet, but I know what it is now. A hunger for more than sustenance. For more than just blood and marrow. I hunger for his pain, for his life. I will feed it. For my love, I will feed.

*                          *                   *

It’s disgusting how easy it is to turn his head - to lure him astray like he doesn’t have a divine gift waiting for him at home.

I twist and reshape my form until I wear the face of a serial killer I devoured years ago. Pretty but not to the point of scorn. Fit and shapely but not to the point of being threatening. An overall handsome beauty with a soothing voice.

His routine is so banal … so easy to intercept.

An “accidental” run in here, a “coincidental” meeting there, and soon we’re drinking at a bar and exchanging numbers.

This masquerade is only skin deep, but he doesn’t seem to care. Cameron is easily lured in by my witty banter and act of vulnerability. He must be blind, to think this form more pleasing than hers, and to not see beyond the act to my barely disguised disgust at his touch. Never mind, his ignorance and stupidity only make this easier for me.

A little flirting leads to an invitation back to “my place” and he walks willingly into my trap.

The air conditioning doesn’t work in the second-hand car I’d rented for the night; with cash, no trail. The smell of the plastic seat covers conflicts with the scents of vodka, cranberries, and the sushi tasters served at the bar. I fold a layer of skin over my nostrils, blocking them from the inside.

Cameron seems unaware of the smell, too focused on enacting whatever tale he’s telling and trying to get a grip on my thigh. I want to rip his hand off.

I refrain from doing so, (for now), keeping my eyes on the road and hands on the wheel.

There’s a warehouse in a nearby industrial estate that’s been abandoned for five years. A series of murders tanked the value of the property, and it has sat unsold and forgotten at the back of the last cul-de-sac of the estate ever since. The grimy ‘To Let’ sign outside it has rusted and fallen behind a hedge. Not to mention the rusting infrastructure and “strange occurrences” have been enough to keep curious kids and urban explorers out away.

It's the perfect place to keep Cameron until I’m done with him.

I pull up just shy of the pavement. Killing the engine with a deliberately sharp turn of the key.

The alcohol in Cameron’s system slows his thoughts and slurs his speech. “Where are we?”

Curse him. Too inebriated to feel fear. Never mind, he’ll sober up soon enough.

“What are you doing?”

I turn to face him, a threatening smile stretching my skin, fangs on display. I’m going to make sure those are the lasts words he’ll ever speak.

The alcohol in his system leaves the chloroform with little to do. His blunt nails and useless bucking do nothing to dissuade me from covering his mouth and nose with the rag and obstructing his airways. His cries are muffled beneath my claws, growing weaker by the second. Until, with a final shuddering jerk, he slumps in his seat, motionless.

The cab feels too small … or maybe I’m too big. I must have stretched out while I was distracted.

I take a moment to breathe deeply.

Shift. Curl in. Pull sinews in tights and layer bones together.

Once my form settles again, I open the door. The night breeze is refreshing, the cold licks helping to sharpen my mind and keep me focused on the task ahead.

Cameron isn’t heavy to me. If it were up to me, I would drag him face-down along the ground, but I need him more-or-less intact … for now.

A new steel chair, handcuffs, a pack of zip ties, and rope sit waiting in the centre of a small closet-like room near the back of the warehouse.

I tie him to the chair, following a familiar routine dredged up from the memories of this face. Handcuffs on wrists and ankles, followed by zip ties at three points on all the limbs, then the rope around the chest. Make it tight, but not too tight. I don't care if he loses his limbs, but it would make things more difficult for me if he develops gangrene or dies from sepsis. Last but not least, a plastic thermal wrap is tied around him.

It's more comfort than he deserves.

His breathing is steady. Pulse a little erratic but that's to be expected.

I shift. Shedding this form and stretching out. A tingling ripples out along my limbs, it starts to itch before finally calming. It happens every time I take my real form again, as the unconstricted veins fill with new blood flow. I shake and stamp my feet and flex my claws.

I could do without any distractions while I feed.

The room feels too small and I have to nudge the chair forward in order to get behind Cameron comfortably.

I tilt his head forward, resting his forehead in one palm and bracing myself against the ground with the other. His head is small in my palm. It would be so easy to just clench my fist and feel the warmth seep between my claws. Not yet.

I lean down and close my mouth around the back of his neck; fangs brushing just below the juncture of the skull. Right above a crucial bundle of nerves situated in the spine.

He stinks, if I wasn't able to close my olfactory senses I would have washed him first.

I hope he tastes better than he smells.

I extend my inner fangs. The thinnest needle-like teeth stretch out from the roof of my mouth.

I bite just below the juncture of the spine and skull.

His memories flood my senses.

I feed.