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1. Man of the Hour
There he was, the man of the hour, a guy like a bull, at least two-hundred pounds of juicy flesh, heading towards his pick-up truck.
He never got there, for David, who had been lurking at the parking area near the Boardwalk for almost an hour now, took to the air, then swept down upon him and lifted him up, one arm around his torso, the other around his neck, the screams of terror muffled to helpless grunts behind his gloved hand. He flew them down to the beach, let the guy drop, and was upon him again before he had time to stumble to his feet.
David was good at calming his victims down – if he wanted to. Sometimes though, he just needed the thrill of their fear and the flush of the carnage. When he was in that mood, he usually looked for some big, beefy guy he could literally tear apart.
The guy was strong, but he was no match for David. The vampire grabbed the bear of a man as if he were a mere child. His victim gave a surprised grunt as upon trying to fight its way up it was first flung to the ground with enough force to make its ribs crack, then yanked up and pressed against David's chest so hard that it could barely breathe.
David bit into the muscular neck full force, but it wasn't enough. He drew back and bit down again, ripping at the man's throat, and tore, and bathed in blood till the demon in him was satisfied and sank back into the shadows once more. By then, his victim was long dead.
David calmly gathered up the parts. It took him three flights until he had disposed of everything in the black waves. Afterwards, he turned the sand till no more traces of blood could be seen. Finally, he stripped and washed in the salty water.
There was a reason why David always wore black. On black, you didn't see the bloodstains.
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2. Free and Easy
She could hardly stand, she was so drunk. And she was crying, tears and snot smearing her face and ruining her already shitty make-up. A cheap, worn out whore, no longer young, never beautiful, and far from healthy.
Dwayne strolled over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. He said nothing, just stirred her away from the corner of the street and further into the shadows, backing her up against a wall. She did not fight him, perhaps because she was too far gone to care, perhaps because she sensed what he wanted and was secretly glad for it. Dwayne thought that the latter was true.
He did not care about her lack of beauty or cleanliness, for neither influenced the taste of the blood. The alcohol did, though, and it made him always slightly tipsy to drink from someone that intoxicated.
“Come on,” he murmured, pulling her close. He shoved her oily hair aside, baring her neck. Then he struck.
The woman made a sound that was an expression of half surprise, half pain, but Dwayne muffled it quickly with his hand. He drew back for a second. “Hush, darlin',” he whispered against the clammy skin of her neck. “Work with me here.” Then he closed his lips over the wound again and started to feed.
First she was pretty tense, but as she realized that nothing worse than the initial pain of the bite would befall her, she gradually relaxed, slumping against him. As he drank, the scent of cheap perfume and seldom cleaned clothes filled his nostrils. He might have pitied her for her sad, empty existence if there had been any pity left in him.
When her heart stopped beating, and he had taken everything from her she could give, he put her down almost gently, leaning her back against the wall.
Then, humming blithely to himself, he went to rejoin his brothers.
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3. Cold
“Cold … so cold …” the boy whispered, trying to burrow deeper into Paul's jacket.
“I know.” It was Marko who answered, since Paul was pretty much preoccupied. “It's alright. You'll be better soon.”
“Mhm ...” Paul murmured affirmatively, drawing light, soothing circles on the boy's back with one hand.
It was always a bit awkward when they were so very young. But that was life. They couldn't help it. No one could.
The boy drew a shuddering breath, a slight tremor traversing through his body. Then he went limp in Paul's arms.
Paul didn't let go, not yet, he even tightened his hold on the frail teenager, almost as if to give some last comfort. When his grip finally slackened, the body glided down onto the sand of the beach, which was still treasuring some residual warmth from the hot summer's day.
Paul threw his head back and moaned, the very picture of fulfilment.
Marko extended a hand, touching and caressing Paul's lips with his index finger, then drew it back and licked the blood from his fingertip. It tasted of youth, and hopes, and hunger.
A life that had run into a dead end far too early, but, frankly, who cared …
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4. Nameless
“No,” the man said. His protest was weak; he was too shocked by what he was confronted with. Probably, he still tried to wrap his mind around it and make some sense of what he saw.
Paul and David were holding the man's arms down, Marko his legs. He lay on the ground as if crucified. Although he struggled, it cost them hardly any effort to pin him. He was only human, after all.
“Ssshhh. Be quiet,” David demanded, extending a hand and forcing the guy's head to the side.
“I … I don't wanna die!” their victim exclaimed. He sounded a bit unsure, as if he still couldn't believe that this was really happening.
“You're human. Humans die. It's natural,” Dwayne replied in David's stead while cutting the man's trousers open with one claw. He was going for the femoral artery, which lay in the thigh, while David was aiming at the carotid artery in the neck. Paul and Marko would have the ones on the arms and legs, once their victim stopped struggling – which would be pretty soon.
Cutting an artery usually resulted in an eruptive mess, but since arterial blood came directly from the heart and therefore contained far more oxygen than venous blood, it was a lot tastier. Besides, it was not as if they feared to get their hands dirty. They enjoyed it, actually.
As expected, it got really messy, and the poor sod they had in their clutches fought as hard as he could, agitated not so much by the pain, which wasn't that bad really, but by the sight of his own blood spraying their faces and chests. David was usually good at calming his victims down, but he needed eye-contact to do that, which, at the moment, he had not, since his fangs were buried in the side of the man's neck.
Paul saw his own reflection in those wide, terrified eyes, a yellow-eyed demon with gleaming predator's teeth and a distorted face that was spray-painted with blood. It took him a huge effort, but for a moment, he was able to revert back into his human guise, that beautiful, almost angelic rocker boy he used to hide his true self behind.
Though his face was still red, his hair dripping with blood, the man seemed to latch onto that sight. Their eyes locked for a moment, their victim seeking a reassurance Paul could not give, and somehow finding it all the same. Paul could feel the taut muscles under his restraining hands relax as the man let go and ceased to struggle. He lowered his head, bit through the skin, and drank.
Later, when he carried the body through the sky and let it drop into the ocean, he wondered detachedly what the man's name might have been.
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“Eckhart saw Hell too. He said: "The only thing that burns in Hell is the part of you that won't let go of life, your memories, your attachments. They burn them all away. But they're not punishing you", he said. "They're freeing your soul. So, if you're frightened of dying and … you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away. But if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth."”
Jacob's Ladder (by Adrian Lyne)
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