Moonlight

A mini short story.

I lie still in the dark and listen to his steady breathing, peaceful, in
and out. He sleeps. Outside the wind is howling, whipping the sheets of
rain into a whirling frenzy. The storm is getting worse with every
breath he draws. I don't know what woke me. Electricity charges the
air, drawing closer around me lick a dark blanket. The wind is
shrieking, rattling the window panes, demanding to be invited inside. I
am out of bed, standing by the window, but I don't remember ever leaving
the bed. I see a hand reaching for the window latch. I examine it in
the faint light filtering through the spattered glass. A strong hand,
with a wide palm and short fingers. The nails are short, broken and
ragged. Some look as if they have been chewed. Small scars pepper the
back of the hand, stark white against the shadow of the skin. I spread
my fingers and the hand, too, splays its own. It hits me: the hand is my
own! How can that be? I did not move until scant seconds ago. Something
is struggling at the back of my conciousness...My mind is racing
frantically, trying to find a logical explanation for what is happening
to me. As my thoughts scatter, one drifts to the fore and all others
grind to a halt: it is silent outside. The eye of the storm is over us.
As the clouds drift, a single shaft of silver moonlight falls upon me. I
can feel my mind shift. My vision is sharper, my thoughts clearer. I
smile and the moonlight skitters across my fangs. The light shifts and I
see my reflection smiling back at me. My eyes, normally sedate brown,
are glowing with a bluish light. My skin is translucent. In the silence I
become aware of his breathing. Across the room I can hear the blood
pounding through his veins, the pumping of his heart. I turn and make my
way back to the bed.I sink down next to him on the red and black
coverlet. Innocently he curves toward me, head angled back, arms to his
sides, trusting. I stretch out next to him and bury my face in his
shoulder. So safe, so warm, so alive. Now I can feel the blood, held
back by a thin layer of oh-so-fragile skin. I turn my head and kiss his
cheek. He smiles in his sleep and nestles closer. I lower my lips to his
neck, nipping him gently. I can feel his pulse. It is not enough. I
ease my fangs into his artery. It is hot and sweet, warming my mouth as
it flows down my throat. I let it go on, losing myself in the sensation,
the fulfillment. Finally, finally, I pull away, licking the crimson
droplets from my lips. I cuddle closer to him, his warmth heating my
cool flesh. As the moon goes back behind the clouds and the wind and
rain rage, I feel my fangs shorten and I drift into oblivion.