Beguile // Demetri Volturi

Chapter 7: Tenor

Ghosts of history long past walked past me. They whispered to me with every change in the wind, and when I turned down the old streets of the populated city, and there were times when I could have sworn that I saw specters beckoning me further into the dark.

Stopping, I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes. Humans were out and about tonight, going about their short lived lives completely ignorant to the monster amongst them. A tall blonde woman in a short red dress caught my attention. The sound of chimes, like that of wind-chime in a Spring morning rang throughout my head. It was pleasant enough, but it would get aggravating after a short while.

She moved her neck and the cornsilk hair tumbled down her back in straight waves. A few golden strands fluttered in the coastal breeze and I smiled. She smelled decent, like sugared lemons and lilies. She would do.

Stepping out of the shadows, I straightened the collar of my jacket and followed the leggy blonde into the nearest bar. I expertly moved through the cobblestone streets, mindful to walk at a pace that a human in a hurry would make. My shoes clicked against the street and when I reached the bar, I slouched forward.

It had been a good ten years since I have been able to hunt for my own meal, and I had nearly forgotten how invigorating the hunting process was. Living in the castle was fine, even pleasant on a good day, but I had grown lazy sitting behind the sandstone walls. Heidi was in charge of supplying us with food, and that made for a complacent and droll lifestyle.

The air of the bar was heavy with sweat, tobacco smoke and the dizzying notes of alcohol. Dozens of different conversations were taking place at the same time; they ranged from talking about the weather, to mundane things such as husbands and children, and there were a few French tourists talking about their home country.

My soon to be meal was sitting at the bar, legs crossed and sun kissed thighs on full display. A handful of mortal men were staring at her and I chuckled to myself. They were of no concern of mine. My steps were confident and I quickly made my way to the bar. When I was a hair's breadth away, I cleared my throat. The woman slowly turned around and when her brown eyes landed on my contact hidden red eyes, she smiled.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked, in perfect Greek, pointing to the stool on her right.

She shook her head, "Please, help yourself."

Her voice was rougher than I had expected it to be, gravelly almost. I slowly sunk into the seat, smirking when I spotted the blonde beauty staring at me with evident lust in her eyes. Once seated, I turned to her and winked, "Thank you, beautiful."

The bartender, an old man with slicked back black hair and piercing blue eyes, walked over to us. He placed coasters in front of us and gave us a kind smile. "What can I get the two of you?"

"A margarita, please," my companion replied, tipping her head back, exposing her neck.

I followed the sharp curve of her neck and I leaned closer to her. With every pulse, the thin skin of her neck vibrated. The veins pressed against the intricacy designed network of muscles and tendons that housed them, and I felt the venom pool in my mouth. I glanced at my watch and nodded. Within fifteen minutes, my teeth would be buried in her neck and she would be dead.

"And you, sir?" the bartender asked, turning to me.

"I'm not thirsty," I lied. "But I am hungry. Tell me, do you have food at this establishment?"

"Afraid not, sir. But if a bite is what you seek, I would try my luck at Thes. It's just down the street and across the booth that rents boat tours."