The Fates

Part XLIX: Leather

Marcus felt torn in an ever-internal battle. He was wide awake, as usual, watching the gentle flutter and fall of his beloved's chest as she slept deeply, clutching onto his chest. His nostrils would flare and he felt a rapid, un-permissing heat in his throat as her scent wafted off her dark brown skin.

Another hunger, unlike what he had felt when they were usually alone, was sparked. A hunger that could kill her, and him both. He needed to feed, but the nearest bloodmeal, unfortunately, was Makayla; dead to the growing danger Marcus was becoming to her, the longer they squatted in that dark, hot, airless room. Her scent beckoned to him, maddening him into a slow bloodlust.

Feed. Feed. Feed. Her thrumming veins urged him.

His fangs cut his upper lip and his mouth was cotton dry. He swallowed and this drove her delectable smell deeper into his system. He cradled her closer.

To kill or not to kill, that was the question. She hummed and burrowed into him before shivering at the touch of his icy skin on her warm thighs.

He disengaged from her; it was approaching winter so the temperatures were lowering steadily, on this specific day cuddling would surely make her ill. He covered her in a sheet.

He was transfixed by her beguiling odour. He had to leave immediately or she would be victim to his lustful appetite for blood. He scampered off the bed and opened the window quietly. He peered at her, to ensure the window had not awakened her, then he slipped away into the dark to seek other blood.

The cool air gave him some respite but he was still unsatisfied. He walked away from her apartment. Then he darted away from her neighbourhood and deep into Pisa, away from Ruelle's house, unbeknownst to him.

He was in the centre of Pisa, where the night life was more vibrant. Young men and women were high on drugs, like meth and ecstasy or there was the odd prostitute tottering. He grimaced. Their blood was dirtied by poison. He returned to the slow suburbs, away from the night life of Pisa.

He observed a couple by a doorway. The man was the only one sober and his partner, who looked more like his daughter, was foul with the aroma of sweet wine and heavy perfume. They departed with a final sweet kiss then he dawdled off. Marcus smiled, excited by the prospects of a meal.

He followed behind, at a distance. A nagging feeling soon came to the forty-year-old man he was trailing. The man turned and found Marcus following him. He frowned and started walking faster, after shrugging his coat closer to his body.

Marcus chortled and walked closer so the man heard his footsteps. The man looked behind and saw Marcus leering at him. The middle-aged man quickened his pace; Marcus did so too.

The man bolted and ran full out for ten minutes before stopping and huffing. His hands on his knees as he caught his breath. When he got up, he was startled back. In front of him was Marcus, smiling tauntingly.

“Dio Mio...who are you?” shouted the man.

The man thought he was a hooligan out for a quick buck. Marcus had fangs retracted and his pitch pupils had bled into the white of his eyes.

A pallor overtook the man. He ran back to where he originally was.
“Ah, he's gone,” the man exclaimed breathlessly.

He faced the street where his girlfriend's home laid and was frozen in fear. The nineteen-year-old with black demon eyes and long canines was in front of him.

“Are you a ghost?”

“I am no such thing. Sono un vampire.  I have immensely enjoyed this game you have tried to play with me but I must eat and get home.”