I whimper as he grabs me. I can’t help it. His pale face flushes with need and those deep black eyes burn. I can tell what he wants. He knows I can tell. And he doesn't care that I know. The honesty in it is thrilling. My blood responds to it, even though I know it shouldn’t. This is dangerous, so dangerous.
He is tall and strong with arms that even through the material of his shirt are firmly defined. His body is lean and hard as he pushes against me, tilting me backwards so that his lips touch my neck. He really did that, I thought. I was in the moment and outside it simultaneously. I had only seen that move in old movies but the vulnerability of my bare neck so near his teeth is exquisite.
I want him. That’s insane. I know it but I can’t help it.
He pushes me back through the doorway, kicking it shut behind us. The echo dies in the house that is as dark as the night outside. The night where he appeared as I made my way through this strange part of town. He was simply there, standing outside this old house, looking refreshing and cool in the too warm darkness.
Now we are inside, where pools of moonlight stain the floor of the tiled hallway. He doesn’t care about those. He wants to go upstairs. I am powerless to resist even though I know I should go slowly. There is no escape once we go up there. The stakes are high, yet I don’t resist. Two of us go up that stairs but I have a strong belief that I may never come back down. That thought stops me. Even in the spell he has cast on me I know what happens up there will can change me.
His firm hand rests on my hip from behind, urging me forward but not pushing. He wants me to give myself to him. He will not force me. That's not what’s happening. In that moment, even before the act itself, it is decided. I take the next step, then forward to the bedroom.
Once inside, I turn. I stand and wait for him by the bed so that he can see me, once he has closed the door. I can feel my heart racing, my pulse pounding, as I see him look at me, lit by moonlight. He is going to take me now, to devour me. He will be my first.
His hand goes to my cheek. This big powerful hand on such a young man, a boy really, not much older than me, up close. That makes me feel better. He slides his fingers from my cheek down to my neck and I know he has found the vein there that pulses visibly. He licks his lip involuntarily when his finger finds it, savouring the direct connection to my heart.
That’s when I bite. Hard and fast, on his wrist. My fangs pop forward even before they touch the skin. The taste of his blood is rich and salty, full of everything I dreamed it would be as soon as I saw him. Better than any I have ever drunk before.
As I bite deeper, I realise why that is. This blood is untainted by fear.
The ones brought to me by mother and father were terrified by the time I could feed. This one, locked in place by confusion and a twist of his arm, hasn’t had a chance to be afraid yet. It will come, in the blood. It won’t ruin it. Blood is blood after all but those first few moments are precious.
He sinks to his knees as I drink, this boy who thought he was the hunter, laid low by a petite girl with strength he couldn’t have guessed at. Not when he saw me looking lost and vulnerable walking past his house, certainly not when he invited me in to his house, the greedy host, not when he closed the bedroom door behind him, ready to have me.
I kneel with him, letting his wrist drop and moving my mouth to his neck. I wouldn’t have thought to do that if he hadn’t earlier done it. The image makes me smile as I drain him.
I slip out the window, changed. A woman now, no longer a girl. The moonlight caresses me as I follow my path to the ground.
I’ll never forget you, I say, my first kill.