The Victim Who Tangoed

A vampire couple picks out a victim from a local high school . . . with unusual results.

Sometimes picking out prey was as easy as observing the high school hallways.

            Charlotte leaned against her locker, observing the passing students from beneath bright purple bangs.  Toying with the lip ring with her tongue, she thought about how nice it would be to sink her teeth into some prime, healthy meat.  And luckily for her, it was her turn to choose.

            Beside her stood a boy who made her look preppy in comparison.  Tall and lanky, his skin so pale it almost glowed, Preston didn’t even bother looking at anyone.  His eyes were closed, calloused fingers lightly entwined with hers.  Charlotte found him to be absolutely gorgeous with his spiked black hair, black nails, eyeliner, and proud, willful mouth.  Any normal person believed he, like Charlotte, painted his nails regularly to keep up with the fashion.  But normal people didn’t know they didn’t have to resort to something so cheap as polish.  More about them was natural than anyone would want to believe.

            They were part of a secret society, easily blending in with a subculture of the human race.  Charlotte would have grinned if it wouldn’t have revealed her teeth.  It was too difficult to keep them flat and dull when the prospect of so many humans bursting with fresh, bright blood like ripened berries was so tantalizing.

            “I want a boy,” she murmured, managing to keep her teeth covered.

            Preston shrugged one shoulder in response, gazing down at her through heavily lidded eyes.  He looked bored, but Charlotte recognized the smoldering hunger in his gray eyes.  The corner of her mouth twitched in response, and she squeezed his hand.

            Before she could say anything, a small rise in murmurs caught her attention.  Both turned their heads to see something that decided Charlotte:

            The boy couldn’t have been older than sixteen; thin and wiry, someone Preston would have described as, “Ripped like Jesus.”  Charlotte had seen him here and there, and had vaguely noted him as something of an outcast when he wasn’t with his inner circle.  His hair was light brown, jaggedly touched his chin when he was looking straight ahead, and his gaze was always wide-eyed and intense.

            Charlotte couldn’t see his face now, but she could see the girl he had in his arms.  She was pretty, one of the more well-known of her peers, with shiny blonde hair and blue eyes.  They, like the boy’s, were huge, but with shock and the disbelief that she was actually involved in the scenario.  And Charlotte had to admit:  you didn’t often see two people tango down the hallway between classes.

            Even more interesting was when the boy reached the end of the hall.  He promptly disengaged himself and, without so much as a backward glance, strode into the nearest classroom door.  By then the blonde had finally gathered her dignity and was screaming obscenities.

            Charlotte couldn’t help the sharp-toothed grin that spread across her face.  “Guess she wasn’t part of that plan,” she said.

            Snorting, Preston muttered, “Some show.”

            She turned her eyes on him, pressing her teeth against her lower lip.  She felt the fangs retract slightly.  It didn’t matter if they showed a little now; everyone around them was too busy puzzling over the impromptu tango down the hallway.  When Preston didn’t even look at her, she pouted and dug her sharpened nails into his palm.

            He didn’t flinch, but did turn his attention back where it belonged.

            “I want him,” Charlotte stated.

            Preston finally showed his teeth, even sharper than hers, in something that wasn’t quite a smile.  He released her hand and leaned in close, cupping her chin with strong fingers.  Charlotte inhaled sharply and closed her eyes, enjoying his predatory movements, basking in the feel of even how fluid and graceful his slight motions were.

            He whispered so his cold breath washed over her face and sent tingles down her spine.  And he said only one word.

            “Done.”

 

 

 

            It was like nothing else.

            Charlotte came to, naked, early Sunday morning, sprawled across the cold linoleum of Preston’s kitchen floor.  She blinked hazily.  For some reason her body felt . . . disengaged.  Floating.  Like an astral flight, she thought.  Or what doing coke had been like back when she used to be human in the 1960s.

            She forced herself to sit up, wincing as her head throbbed in response.  Such a . . . human reaction, she noticed.  It was almost disgusting how human she felt right then.  And deeply, intensely disturbing.

            She looked down and found Preston curled on his side like an infant.  He also lacked clothing.  His chest didn’t move, but that didn’t concern her.  When he slept, sometimes he forgot to breathe.

            Then Charlotte looked up, and there he was.  The wiry kid; the one who had tangoed with the preppy girl down the school corridor.  The one who was ripped like Jesus.  He was shirtless, bound to a chair, and snoring softly as though he had no idea what had happened.  And when he woke, he probably wouldn’t—the blood loss he suffered would make him feel disoriented for quite some time.

            She remembered now.  Preston had done what he always did; he told her to go home and wait for him.  Charlotte, after waiting five hours, had fallen asleep on the couch, starving half to death and bored out of her mind.  When Preston had rudely shaken her awake, he’d already tied the kid up, bound and gagged him.  And when Charlotte, shaking with hunger, had crawled into his lap and bitten fiercely into the tightly corded muscle of his neck, the kid had thrashed.  But just as quickly he had gone still and quiet and Charlotte had greedily drank her share, barely even noticing when Preston attached himself to the boy’s wrist.

            Normally, drinking blood was simply for sustenance.  Vampire blood lacked oxygen, but human blood was ripe with it.  If Charlotte cut herself with a silver knife, she would have spilled blue rather than red.

            But drinking from this boy had caused effects Charlotte hadn’t felt in decades.  She recalled the dreamy sensation, as though her head was just shy of touching the ceiling.  Preston must have felt it, too, because she dimly recalled how he kept looking at his hands like they didn’t belong to him.  Then, for the first time, they had succumbed to an unnatural—but no less gratifying—lust.

            Charlotte reached out to stroke Preston’s hair.  Her fingers tangled easily, the strands still stuck with gel, so she settled for massaging his scalp.  After a few minutes of the spoiled treatment, he opened his eyes and stared at her blankly.

            Grinning, she made herself comfortable on the floor beside him.  She waited until he drew her close, allowing her to nuzzle into the hollow of his throat.

            “I wanna keep him,” she mumbled.

            She couldn’t see his face, but Charlotte knew if nothing else Preston was smirking on the inside.  He ran his icy fingers over her bare flesh, eliciting a shiver.  Then he pressed his lips to her forehead.

            Behind her, she heard the boy stir.  He groaned, the sound muffled by the gag.  The chair scraped against the linoleum as he seemed to realize he wasn’t waking up in his bed.

            Preston chuckled.  He apparently found the prospect of their new perpetual high as amusing as she did.  “What’s mine is yours,” he said.

            Charlotte grinned sharply and nipped his throat.  His chest rumbled distinctly, and she delighted in his pulling her body even more taught against his.  It looked like they would be going at it again—and she was already starving and finding it hard to breathe.

            She glanced over her shoulder.  “I want you to watch,” she told their captor in a low voice.

            Then she found herself pinned beneath her lover, staring into heated gray eyes.  “And I want you to shut up,” Preston said quietly.

            Charlotte ran her nails down his arm.  “I love you, too.”

            Not once did they ask the boy his name.

Author's Note

I'm considering making a sort of miniature short story series with these two. They're not what I usually write, but I've quickly grown fond of them. Critiques welcome.

Reviews

[Emily Pazienza]

WOW!!! This is AMAZING!!!! I read the other two, the ones you submitted into the contest, and thoses were really good, too. Please make more :):):):) I can't wait!!!! :):):) 100

[Sean M. Addams]

a very cool story ..very interesting and liked the characters in this alot..overall nice job on this !!!

[Ice Queen of the Vampir..]

I love it!!! This is an awesome vamp piece, you did an amazing job writing it. Everything is just perfect. Excellent write!!!

Heather