Writers Gonna Write

And then there had been the last drop. Like syrup, it had fought to remain in Estelle’s body, and with it Christina had heard the whisper of a scream so horrified, so desperate, that it had turned her veins to ice, even as her sire’s blood burned through them. But her heart was ice too. She had shut down her revulsion at the act and pulled harder. What had passed her lips then had not just been Estelle’s last drop of blood. She had felt the transference of something much more. A sentience, laid over her like a shroud, lingering on the surface momentarily before it sank in and was consumed.

And that was it. Her sire no longer existed to torment her. She had taken the ultimate revenge. And now she sat at the Prince’s right hand, and the other Kindred glanced at her with equal parts envy and fear in their eyes.

It felt good. It felt right. She was so glad she had gone through with it and not listened to her fears. So much was open to her now. So many possibilities. Sensechal of London. And one day … Prince?

She looked to her left, to where the Prince sat next to her, and smiled. Why not?

The moment she collapsed onto her big four-poster bed she started to feel better. She loved the feel of the satin sheets, the big velvety blanket that covered them, the plush pillows. It was a riot of cosy, pleasant sensations on her skin. The black curtains were pulled back against the posts, allowing her a view of her room, which was decorated in a grand Victorian Gothic style, all reds and blacks, candelabras and ornate picture frames. Beautiful. The opulence of it calmed her. The stark neutrality of Michael’s rooms had left her feeling unsettled and anxious, like she wasn’t really there.

That’s not really true though, is it?

She rolled herself up in the blanket and thought about it. No, it hadn’t really been the rooms, much as they weren’t to her taste. It had been Michael. No, again that wasn’t really true. It had been her.

The little niggle of affection she had felt. That place she did not want to go.

If you care about someone, they can be used against you. Especially if you are in a position of power.

Her dream came back to her in snippets, like flashes of images freeze-frame frozen into her mind. Her loved ones burning. The fire in her hands. Martyn and Cesario, mourning her. The gas station, where she’d met the werewolf who was infinitely freer than she’d ever be.

I’m afraid.

Afraid of what? Of being Seneschal. Of reaching out and taking what she wanted, because was it really what she wanted? No, but it was the next step to getting it. No one had ever said that getting what you wanted would be easy.

Bitter waters before the sweet, Chris.

And it would get her something she’d wanted for a very long time – her sire’s head. That bitch had had it coming for way too long, and now Christina finally had a chance to make Estelle suffer for everything she had ever put her through.

She looked around her room – a room fit for a princess.

Or a Prince.

She smiled. She felt better now. She was still afraid, but she didn’t feel so rattled. She’d thought it through and she knew what she had to do. She had to go through with it. She didn’t really have a choice at this point. And she had to make damn sure that she didn’t get any closer to Michael than she already was. If anything happened to him because of her, Cesario would never forgive her. She’d never forgive herself.

In the pocket of the coat she’d discarded on the bedroom floor, her phone rang. She jumped up and retrieved it. A private number. Cautiously, she answered it. ‘Hello?’

‘Miss Barr.’ The Prince’s voice rang in her ear, and her heart lurched. ‘Your sire has confirmed that she will be here tomorrow night, as planned. I presume you will be too?’

‘I don’t know,’ Michael said, stretching and resting his hands behind his head. ‘There’s a little time as the sun sets where we kind of … come back to life, but before we wake up. That’s the part I mean.’

Christina wrinkled her nose. ‘It still sounds creepy.’

Michael chuckled. ‘I was aiming for romantic.’

That niggle tickled in Christina’s chest again. ‘Creepy and cheesy,’ she insisted, throwing back the covers to get out of bed. She felt Michael’s eyes on her as she located her discarded lingerie and pulled it back on, cursing herself for not thinking far enough ahead to have brought some actual clothes with her. ‘Well, it’s been fun, darling, but I have to get going. Busy Grand Keeper stuff, you know.’

Michael propped himself up on one arm. ‘I thought you weren’t doing that job any more.’

Christina hesitated. ‘I have to get things ready for my successor,’ she said, wincing at how much that tasted like a lie.

Michael cleared his throat and sat up. ‘Of course. I have things I should be doing too.’ Christina could almost see his old reserved composure slip back into place. The walls coming back up again. It hurt her a little to see it, which made that niggling feeling in her chest worse. It felt like fear. Fear of old patterns repeating themselves again.

She dressed quickly and went back into the living room to retrieve her coat. As she was buttoning it up, Michael came in after her, now dressed in his usual suit trousers and shirt. He walked with her to the door, where he put a hand on her arm to stop her.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For uh … taking care of me.’

Michael turned round and came back to the bed. Christina turned onto her side to face him. ‘Are we safe?’ she asked teasingly.

Michael nodded. ‘I have to admit I did not expect the night to end like this,’ he remarked.

‘With me in your bed?’ Christina reached out to him, her fingers tracing the faint scars on his torso. ‘I did.’

He chuckled, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Well, you do tend to get what you want,’ he said. His hand snatched up hers. ‘Stop it. That tickles.’

She leaned in closer, her lips grazing his cheek. ‘Want me to tickle you somewhere else?’

‘Good lord, woman!’ He laughed. ‘You’re insatiable. There’s no time, the sun’s about to come up.’

‘That all depends on what we do.’ Christina grinned wickedly.

Michael looked up at her, his gaze softening. ‘You are incredible,’ he said softly. ‘You’ll be the death of me one day.’

Christina’s smile faded, and she sighed. ‘That is entirely possible,’ she replied, rolling onto her back. ‘With my track record.’

Michael turned to face her. ‘You say things like that, yet you never explain what you mean.’

She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re just having fun. But whatever you do, don’t get sweet on me. Then you’re in trouble. And if I start to feel something for you … well, then you’re fucked.’

Michael hummed thoughtfully. ‘I am very fond of you,’ he said carefully. ‘And I … enjoy your company, let’s say.’ Christina smirked. ‘But you know who my heart belongs to.’

‘Yes,’ Christina replied. ‘To Cesario. And I don’t want to ruin that, so…’

‘You won’t,’ Michael assured her. ‘We all know where we stand in this.’

‘You underestimate my power,’ Christina said. ‘I have an incredible habit of destroying those I love.’

‘You didn’t destroy Cesario,’ Michael said.

Christina gave him a scornful look. ‘That’s more credit to him than to me,’ she replied. ‘I have a long list of names on my conscience, Michael. Cesario is on there. You don’t want your name on there too.’

Michael only smiled sadly and laid back down. The dawn was pulling harder now, dragging them slowly but surely down into sleep. Christina could feel her thoughts growing foggy, her mind slowing. She heard herself speak without meaning to. ‘I don’t want to lose you too.’

Michael turned to look at her, his expression one of surprise. Christina only just saw it before her eyelids slipped closed and she couldn’t open them again. The soft paralysis of the day was upon her. Dimly, as she sank down into oblivion, she heard Michael say something, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Martyn raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you lot didn’t dream.’

‘Not often.’ Christina got to her feet. ‘God, it sucked. First I was just remembering random stuff, and then … the club was on fire, and then I was … You were…’ She trailed off, feeling foolish. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid.’

‘If you say so,’ Martyn replied. ‘But you know I’m here to talk if you need me, right?’

She smiled at him warmly. ‘Of course. I can always count on you. But right now I need a shower.’

Martyn nodded. ‘Good plan.’

She glanced at her phone on the way into the bathroom and saw that it was still early, sunset only an hour or so ago. Putting her phone on the edge of the sink, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower cubicle, sliding the door closed behind her. With a quick twist of the knob, the water burst out of the shower head, pelting her with ice cold water that quickly warmed up. She didn’t feel temperatures in the same way as mortals, but she did enjoy the sensation of the extremes of hot and cold on her skin. It made her feel more connected to the world around her, more … alive. She snorted at the irony of it and reached for the shampoo. She could smell the alley she had left her meal in in her hair.

Alive. That’s what she needed, she decided as she washed herself. She needed to feel alive. After that horrible nightmare, she was craving connection. Not to mention that scenes from it still lingered in her mind, repeating like they were trying to tell her something. Her subconscious was sending her a message, she supposed. Well, tough shit. She didn’t want to listen. She turned off the water and stood for a moment, thinking. Water dripped softly in the otherwise silent room.

She slid open the cubicle door and stepped out, ignoring the water she dripped across the floor. She picked up her phone and let her fingers fly across the screen, picking out Michael’s number. She sent a quick text:

Where are you right now?

The response took a few minutes to arrive. My flat in Knightsbridge. Why?

She smiled. Stay there.

Why? This response was quicker. What’s going on?

Christina didn’t answer that one. She was already heading into her bedroom to dress.

Less than an hour later she was ringing the bell of Michael’s flat. It was high up in an expensive apartment building, nestled among what were no doubt AirBnBs and weekend getaways for rich people. Michael answered the bell within seconds. ‘Yes?’ His voice came out tinny through the little speaker.

Christina leaned in close. ‘Let me in, Michael.’

He said nothing else. The door buzzed and the electric lock clunked open. Christina pushed her way through before it could lock again and hurried to the lifts. One was empty, the doors waiting open. She pressed the button for floor 6 and waited as the lift made its smooth ascent.

Michael was waiting for her at his open doorway. His eyes raked up and down her as she strode along the hallway toward him, her long coat flowing open around her legs, revealing an expanse of stockinged thigh. As she reached him he spoke. ‘What’s going on, Christina? Your message-’

She put her hand on his chest and pushed him inside, closing the door behind them. ‘Don’t worry about my message.’ She slipped past him, walking further into the apartment, into the living room-slash-kitchen.. It was immaculately clean and nondescript, as if it were vacant and dressed up to be viewed by buyers. ‘I love what you’ve done with the place!’ she quipped.

Michael shrugged as he followed her in. ‘I’m not down here that often,’ he replied, taking up a position in front of the kitchen counter. ‘What do you want, Christina?’

Christina turned to look at him. ‘Am I keeping you from urgent business?’

‘No…’

‘Good.’ She smiled and lifted her hands to the buttons on her coat. ‘I got a letter from Cesario. It was a little late getting to me. He asked me to take care of you while you’re here. And I realised that I hadn’t really been doing that.’

Michael frowned. ‘So you’re here to … take care of me?’

Her smile widened, and she let the coat fall from her shoulders. Beneath it she was naked except for the stockings and some very revealing lingerie. ‘Yes.’

Michael sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. ‘Christina….’

She stepped forward, trapping him between the counter and her body. ‘No, no excuses, Michael. You’re not a priest any more, remember?’ She was directly in front of him now, with little more than an inch between them. She took one of his hands from where it gripped the counter behind him and placed it against her face. His thumb reached out and grazed her lower lip. ‘Let me take care of you.’

He growled deep in his throat, his eyes drinking her in. She could see how tempted he was, his eyes were dark with desire. Still, he shook his head. ‘No, I…’

‘Alright, then let me put it this way. I need this. I want you to take care of me. I don’t want to talk about why. I just want you.’ She reached out with her free hand and pressed her palm against his groin. He hissed between his teeth, lips drawing back enough that she could see that his fangs were out. Her own slid out in response, hard and heavy behind her lips. Still he hesitated. She stepped closer, trapping her hand between their two bodies, pressing herself against his chest. Her lips were just a breath away from his. ‘Michael.’ Her voice dropped, growing huskier, sterner. ‘Don’t make me beg you. You know I won’t.’

‘What about Angmar? And Cesario?’ He muttered weakly.

‘They’re not here,’ Christina replied, a tinge of bitterness in her voice. ‘We are.’

Still he didn’t move. Even his thumb was still against the corner of her mouth. He was completely frozen in place. Christina’s heart sank. Reluctantly, she released her hold on him and stepped away. ‘Fine, I won’t force you,’ she sighed. ‘You know, I cannot understand how you can stand it, being so fucking repressed all the time, Mic-’

She stopped as Michael suddenly pushed away from the counter and collided with her, his hands finding her shoulders. Her back hit the opposite wall and now she was the one trapped. She laughed against his lips as his mouth found hers. ‘That’s... more like it,’ she mumbled, her words muffled and stilted as he kissed her.

He only growled in response. His hands slid down over her curves, finding her ass and pulling her up against him. She could feel how hard he was, and that ignited the fire in her. She reached up and tore his shirt open, ignoring the clatter of the buttons as they hit the floor, nipping at his lips with her teeth. She drew blood and the taste of it made both of them snarl.

‘Bedroom?’ Christina asked breathlessly.

She stopped dancing and turned to face whoever was calling her. Through the zoetrope of dancing bodies she saw them. They were standing at the edge of the dancefloor, their face illuminated by a light in their hands. She froze as recognition hit her. That woman … She was looking at herself.

The other Christina smiled at her, the light in her hands painting ghoulish shadows over her face. ‘You did this!’ she called, her smile widening into a rictus grin. ‘You always do! To everything you love because you just will not stop!’

Suddenly Christina realised that the light in her doppelganger’s hands wasn’t a light, but fire. Her hands were on fire, and she was cupping it in them like it was water. No sooner had she realised this than the other Christina opened her hands, letting the fire fall to her feet. It dropped with eerie liquidity. The other Christina flung out her arms and laughed as she was engulfed in flame. The fire flung itself out too, speeding across the floor as if it were eating up lines of gasoline.

Her friends burned first, one after another. She watched in horror as Angmar, Cesario, Michael, Falsetto, Martyn. Jesse, Douglas all burned, screaming in agony and fear. Then the club began to catch. She looked for the exit, but couldn’t find it. The doors and windows had all vanished, leaving only solid, smooth walls where the wallpaper was already beginning to curl and smoulder. She was trapped.

She looked around for Martyn, and saw him on the other side of the room, standing behind a bar, serving drinks with a spill-cloth flung over one shoulder and a cheerful smile on his face. He saw her looking and winked. She winked back, her spirits lifting. This was her happy place. Her club. She lifted her head and let the music fill her ears and move her limbs.

In the flashing lights she saw the faces around her. Cesario was there, looking magnificent in one of his androgynous club outfits. Michael was reluctantly dancing with him in his customary plain black jeans and shirt, as dressed down as he ever got and looking uncomfortable for it. Angmar was with her, a hand on her hip and a smug smirk on his handsome face, his black leathers shining like oil in the lights. She kept looking, and saw Charlie, blonde dreadlocks flying as she danced. Douglas at the bar, smiling as he spoke to Jesse, who was behind the bar with Martyn, serving his special blood wine. Falsetto in one of the booths, resplendent and out of place in an old-fashioned, perfectly tailored suit. Her own dear Jesse (strange that she had known two, and both Americans), face pink and flushed from alcohol and dancing. And the kids, her sweet little band of misfits, dressed up to the nines and playing their hearts out on the stage.

Theirs was the only vehicle in the gas station, so once all the roadies had disappeared into the store, it was very quiet outside. Christina had stood still, closing her eyes to listen to the night. The road was quiet and all she heard for a few moments was the sounds of the insects chirping and the rustle of the wind in the trees around them. She didn’t get to hear this very often. In England all the spaces remote enough to be this quiet were rumoured to be home to -

A twig cracked, heavily, not far away. Christina’s eyes snapped open and she turned in the direction of the noise. It had sounded deliberate. She found herself staring into the dark eyes of a woman standing in the treeline who looked about the same age as her, wearing practical but worn clothes and carrying a bulging backpack on one shoulder. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tousled and had a couple of leaves tangled in it. She was staring directly at her with an intense and angry glare. Christina extended her senses toward the woman and immediately found out why. The scent and the aura that came off of her was unmistakeable, even though she had only encountered it once or twice.

Werewolf. Shit.

A wave of fear came over her. She had no chance of besting a garou in a one on one fight. Slowly, she took a step back, further into the gas station’s circle of light, and raised her hands in a gesture of peace. The woman in the treeline didn’t move, but her eyes followed her.

‘I’m just passing through,’ Christina said. ‘That bus over there? That’s mine. We just stopped for gas. I’ll be gone in five minutes, maybe ten.’

The woman continued to stare. For a moment Christina thought she wasn’t going to reply, and steeled herself to run. The she blinked and shrugged. ‘I don’t give a shit,’ she replied. ‘This isn’t my land. I’m just passing through too.’

‘Okay.’ Christina took a deep breath. Her mind whirled as she groped for something to say. ‘You need a ride?’ she asked eventually.

The woman snorted. ‘Not from the likes of you.’

Thank fuck for that, Christina thought. Aloud she said, ‘Fair enough.’ Glancing over her shoulder, she looked into the store and saw that her companions were still browsing the aisles. Could they not hurry up? Looking back, she saw that the woman still hadn’t moved. She forced a friendly smile onto her face. ‘I’m Christina.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head as if expecting some trick. She seemed to come to some decision, and her expression relaxed a little. ‘I’m Aspen.’

‘Pretty name. You going far, Aspen?’

‘Yeah.’

‘On foot?’

Aspen shrugged again. ‘I like hiking. You’re British?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Christina nodded toward the bus. ‘I’m over here to tour. I’m a musician. A singer.’

Aspen frowned. ‘I thought you lot had rules against leeches getting famous or whatever.’

Christina forced a laugh. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not that famous. And I’ll manufacture a disappearance of some sort before people start wondering why I don’t age. We have our ways.’

‘Uh huh.’ Aspen paused, considering. ‘Sounds exhausting, having to hide yourself all the time. Follow all those rules.’

‘I have to, if I want to stay alive.’ Christina saw Aspen’s eyebrow raise and smiled. ‘So to speak.’

‘Or what? The other vampires come and kill you?’ Christina nodded, and Aspen snorted. ‘Wow. That sucks.’

Christina’s smile turned bitter. ‘Yep. Not a lot of vamp solidarity going on. Not in my area, at least.’ She cast a cautious glance at the werewolf. ‘I hear it’s very different for your, uh, people. Close knit packs, lots of freedom? Must be nice.’

Aspen’s expression clouded, and she looked away. ‘Something like that,’ she replied. ‘I should get going.’

‘Of course, don’t let me keep you,’ Christina said as she turned away. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Aspen.’

‘Whatever, leech,’ Aspen replied as she walked away, skirting the light of the gas station to keep in the treeline. ‘Have fun our your tour.’

The bell over the store’s door gave a tinny ring as Christina watched the woman disappear into the darkness. The sound of the roadies chatting and laughing among themselves broke the silence, which had gone from serene to tense and oppressive. Martyn came up to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You okay, Chris?’ he asked, following her gaze. ‘Hey, who was that?’

‘It’s from Cesario,’ she said as she slid a nail under the flap and tore the envelope open.

‘You can tell without opening it?’ Martyn asked, then shook his head. ‘Of course you can. I’ll leave you to it.’

Christina barely heard him; she was already unfolding the letter that was in the envelope, eager to find out what her childe had to say.

‘Dear Chris,

Sine everyone insists we stop using our phones, I decided it might be nice to send you a letter, just like in the old days. I had quite a lot of fun remembering how to do my calligraphy again! There’s something rather special about a letter, isn’t there?

I really just wanted to let you know that Michael will be in London for a little while. The Prince asked him to come down to assist with some business. I won’t be with him because there are some things I’m in the middle of up here, so look after him for me, won’t you? He wouldn’t say, but he misses you. So do I. And you know as well as I do how hopeless he’ll be at the Elysiums. It’s very different in London, isn’t it?

I hope the city is treating you well and you aren’t too bored of all the parties yet. Please come visit us sometime. We would love to have you.

~C~’

Christina ran her fingers over the dried ink, tracing the delicate curls and sloping lines of the handwriting. Her eyes burned like she wanted to cry. She could go weeks without thinking of her childe, and then one little thing would remind her of him, or she’d get a text or -in this case – a letter, and she would suddenly feel the loss of him so acutely it hurt to breathe.

She pulled in a deep breath anyway, relishing the pain. She deserved it. She had treated Cesario so awfully over the years, and still he wrote to her, he missed her, he was kind and sweet to her. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d cut all ties with her and refused ever to speak to her again. She’d stolen him away from his family, made him a vampire, treated him like a doll, and then practically abandoned him when she’d found someone else to amuse her. It was something of a pattern for her, she had to admit. But at least she’d never been so cruel as to make another childe. Only Cesario had had that ‘privilege’.

She sighed and dropped back onto the sofa. The cushions were soft beneath her head and she curled up, holding the letter to her breast. ‘Cesario,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I wish things had gone differently. I wish you were still here. I wish … oh, so many things.’

She sat on the sofa, letter in hand, scanning the details even though they were burned into her brain. She would be Seneschal upon the ‘removal’ of the current Kindred who held the title, which would be done in front of the gathering – naturally, to prove a point. On the same evening, she would be given the opportunity to kill her sire. But the catch was, she couldn’t just kill her – she had to diablerise her. The Prince wanted her to have that stain upon her soul, as something they could hold over her, no doubt.

Christina didn’t like the idea of diablerie – consuming the very soul and essence of another vampire, preventing them from any kind of afterlife at all – if there was one. But it did have its perks, improved strength and learning their skills and powers being among them, and frankly she couldn’t think of anyone she’d like to wipe from existence more than Estelle. So she wasn’t opposed to doing it. But it had its risks, too. Diablerising a stronger-willed vampire could mean that they gained control of you, and you would be the one erased. At least, that’s what she had heard. Was Estelle stronger-willed than her? She didn’t like to think so. And if she did win that battle, she’d be stained as a diablerist for a very long time to come – and diablerists were reviled in the Camarilla. The stain would be easy enough to spot for any Kindred with the right abilities. She would be reliant on the Prince’s protection until the stain and anyone who had seen it were gone.

Martyn came into the room and stopped, staring at her. ‘You okay, Chris?’ he asked. ‘You’re doing your worried face.’

Christina looked up and forced a smile. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Okay, and now you’re doing your fake ‘I’m fine’ face,’ Martyn retorted. ‘What’s wrong?’

Christina sighed and shrugged. ‘I’m just thinking about the … promotion,’ she replied. ‘And the night when I’m to be given it.’

‘You mean the night you get to kill Estelle?’ Martyn sat down beside her. She had already told him everything. ‘Shouldn’t you be happy about that? You’ve wanted her gone for ages.’

‘Yes, but … wanting it and actually doing it are two different things.’

‘What’s bothering you? Is it the killing her, or the…’ He pursed his lips and made a sucking sound.

Christina laughed. ‘You’re so eloquent. Yes, it’s the diablerie. I’m worried. I’ve never done it before.’

Martyn looked at her carefully. ‘Are you scared?’ he exclaimed.

Christina recoiled. ‘No!’

‘You are! That’s your scared face!’

‘Stop it!’ Christina shoved him away roughly. ‘I don’t have a scared face, or a worried face, or any other kind of ‘face’!’

Martyn laughed. ‘You really do,’ he said. ‘But you know what you don’t have? A poker face. Seriously, Chris, I can read you like a book.’

Christina growled. ‘Well, don’t.’ That was not the sort of thing she wanted to hear right before she was due to go and kill her sire. ‘Am I really that bad?’ she asked.

Martyn softened. ‘Only when you’re alone,’ he replied. ‘When you think no one’s looking. When you have to, you can hide what you’re thinking. Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘I’ll be fine. It’s just nerves. I think I’ll just-’

The doorbell rang, interrupting them. Martyn frowned. ‘You expecting anyone?’

She sent her mind out, touching on the thoughts of others, searching for that unmistakeable blend of anger, aggression and loathing that made the kind of person – the kind of man, usually – that she was looking for. It didn’t take long to find it. A group of young men, loitering in an alleyway near a bar on the other side of the road, smoking and shouting at whoever caught their attention. Her vampiric vision saw at once that their pupils were large and blown out in their eyes. They were hopped up on something.

One of them glanced at her, looked a second time, and his lip curled up in a sneer. He stepped forward to mutter something in his companion’s ear, then split off from the group to a chorus of callous laughter. Christina rolled her eyes and kept walking. She knew without looking back that he was following her. She could feel that lurid, loathsome rage boiling off of his mind, slowly getting stronger as he caught up with her. She affected a slight stumble to her step and slowed a little, letting him draw nearer. The entrance to an alley loomed dark and narrow ahead. She let him get closer, then stumbled in the direction of the alley.

Smooth as silk, he lunged and pulled her into the alley with him, the two of them enveloped in shadow where the streetlights couldn’t reach. His hand clamped over her mouth. She gave him a muffled cry of dismay as he shoved her back against the damp brick wall, his eyes boring into hers with savage glee.

‘Hey bitch,’ he hissed, one hand already fumbling with his belt. ‘You’re going to give me what I want.’

Christina’s eyes narrowed. Behind his hand, her mouth twisted up into a smile, and she started to laugh. The man paused, confused. ‘You think this is funny?’ he cried, outraged.

Christina lifted her hands to his shoulders and, faster than he could react to, she spun him round so that he was pressed against the wall. His hands flew out in surprise, releasing her. ‘Hilarious,’ she replied. Grabbing his head in her hands, she jerked it back once, hard, hitting his skull against the wall with a muffled thump. His eyes rolled in their sockets and his knees buckled as he slumped, dazed. She hauled him back to standing by his jacket, and as his head lolled back she bared her fangs.

Yessssss, the Beast inside her keened. Take him. Drain him dry.

She plunged her fangs into his throat with a groan of satisfaction. The blood pumped, hot and strong, into her mouth, flooding down her throat and lighting her up nerve by nerve. He tasted like alcohol and nicotine and something bitter and electric. He tasted like lust and anger and self-loathing and a fierce desire to hurt others like he hurt himself. She saw fleeting glimpses of the things he had done, flashing behind her eyelids like photos taken in a dark room – beatings, muggings, rapes, to the young and the old, not caring if they lived or died.

He deserves to die, the Beast whispered inside her. End his miserable life.

She wanted to; she really did. Because the Beast was right – he did deserve to die. But dead bodies required clean-ups, cover-ups. Easier to let him live … and teach him a lesson.

She released him before his heart started to slow, running her tongue over the wounds to close them. Letting go of his jacket, she let him crumple to the dirty ground. A quick glance around showed her that she was still in the clear, so she knelt down in front of him. She rummaged through his pockets and found only a little; a small amount of cash and a baggy of weed. She took both. She found his phone, turned it on, and used his limp fingers to unlock it. Then she took a photo of him, saved it onto the phone, made it it his home screen image. She opened his Facebook account, wrote ‘I am a RAPIST’ and posted it to his page. Then she locked the phone, slipped it back into his pocket and slapped his cheeks until he roused. His eyes opened and he stared at her blearily. Holding his head steady between her hands, she pushed with her mind, boring into his.

‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘The next time you lay your hands on someone without their permission, it will be the last thing you ever do.’

His eyes clouded over as the message sank into his brain. It wasn’t quite a command, but it would linger. He would think about hurting someone and it would resurface, and he would feel all the fear and confusion he felt now.

‘Forget my face,’ she said, with another push. His eyes clouded more, and his eyelids slipped closed. Dropping him, she stood up, straightened her jacket and wiped her mouth. The Beast grumbled sullenly in the back of her mind, still craving the man’s life, but her hunger was satisfied. She smiled and walked away, slipping out of the alley and back into the slow stream of night time pedestrians on the main street. No one paid her any notice, except for a couple of men smoking outside a bar a few doors down. Their eyes raked over her, and one of them gave a low wolf-whistle.

‘Nice legs, sweetheart!’ he called out jovially. ‘You’re looking good!’

‘Thanks,’ Christina replied, flashing him a dazzling smile as she walked by. His cheeks flushed and his friend started to laugh and tease him, urging him to go after her. He wouldn’t though. He meant no harm, he was just drunk and in a good mood.

Martyn chuckled. ‘Torn jeans and a binliner.’

‘An actual binliner,’ Christina laughed, nodding. ‘I couldn’t believe you were serious. But it looked great, in the end.’ She paused. ‘You showed me a whole new world. Different music, different ways to dress, to express myself. I’m so grateful for that, you know. That, and everything else you do for me.’

‘Got to have your daytime dude,’ Martyn said with a shrug. ‘But you know I’m happy to do it. It’s not like you didn’t help me too.’

Christina nodded and fell silent. When she’d met Martyn in Brighton he had been a sad drunk considering suicide. He’d suffered horrible losses in the IRA bombings of London and didn’t have any reason to keep living. Then she’d come along, spoken kindly to him, and kept him distracted from his own misery for a while. As they had grown closer, he’d told her about his sad past, and eventually she’d told him about hers, including her ‘secret’. He’d reacted so much better than she had feared, and not only had he stuck around, he had offered to help her, to be her daytime eyes and anything else she needed. They’d been together ever since.

And all that was before a single drop of blood ever passed his lips, she thought fondly. Their relationship had formed without any blood bond. And while that was certainly a factor now – Martyn was approaching his hundredth birthday, yet still looked in his early forties – she felt certain that he was still with her because he wanted to be. She’d offered to embrace him multiple times, especially since he got too old to come off her blood and revert back to being completely human. He always refused.

She offered it to him again now. ‘Had any more thoughts about that promotion?’

He smiled. ‘Nah, I’m still good where I am.’

‘You promise you’ll tell me if that changes?’