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He turned up the collar of his coat as he walked, mimicking the few humans around him. The weather was shockingly cold for California, but he didn’t feel it, hadn’t in over 40 years. He just needed to blend in until he found a safe house.
He kept his eyes down, his shoulders hunched, and grumbled at his posture. This was the one thing he hated about his “condition” - the need to hide.
His thoughts turned to covens then, and how if he joined one he wouldn’t have to live quite so quietly, but the covens he’d known were ruthless and mean to humans, and he just didn’t see the need.
He had to force back a twitch as he heard a woman cry out in an alley, maybe a block away. His instincts washed over him, a warm wave of opportunity crashing upon his thoughts. He smiled, and at the next intersection made a right and picked up his pace.
As he got closer, he slid more carefully into the shadows of the buildings around him, disappearing into the night. His steps were nearly silent to his own ears, and he crept around the corner and into the alley.
A woman, probably a prositute, was being beaten by a man, a wronged customer or her pimp. His nose tingled at the smell of a cigar, his fingers twitched at the thought of a fight.
But his jaw dropped when he saw a flash of silver and smelled blood - the woman had pulled a knife from her purse and stabbed the man in the neck.
His gurgled gasps were loud as hell and seemed to echo around the brick buildings. He clutched at his murderess, as if asking for help, before finally collapsing into the street and bleeding out onto the pavement.
Monty stayed hidden until his heart stopped, watching the woman as she went from panic to dispair. She knelt on the ground, staining the hem of her dress, wailing into her hands about what she had done.
He tiptoed around the edge of the scene, silently waiting for a break in her sobs, before finally stepping out of the shadows and clearing his throat.
She whipped her head up and stared at him for a moment before returning her gaze to the man. “You saw me kill him.”
“I did.”
“You’re not going to call the police?”
“No.” He stepped closer. “Human police don’t apply to me.”
“Vampire.” She sneered at him over her shoulder. “Should have known when you didn’t run screaming.”
“Look, your friend there is dead and when you get caught, it’s gonna be life in prison. But if you don’t want that—”
“I”m not gonna let you turn me. I’d rather die than be a vampire.”
“Would you rather die than go to prison? ‘Cause I can arrange that.”
She stared at him. “You’d kill me?”
“Well, I’d eat you. Don’t want to waste all the food by washing it down the drain.”
She sighed and stood up. “Yeah, well, better than wasting away behind bars. Crime of passion followed by a vampire attack? I’ll be in all the papers.”
“Damn straight.” Monty took another step closer. “Any last requests?”
“Don’t leave before I’m dead, okay? Don’t wanna risk being caught alive and saved.”
“Promise.” He snatched her wrist and pulled her close, wrapping one arm around her waist and cradling her head with his opposite hand.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Monty. Monty Oum.”
“Sandra,” she said.
“Sandra.” He rolled the name around his tongue for a moment before nodding. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” She nodded.
He tilted her head to the side and bit down, and she gasped and grasped his coat. He moaned around the wound as he drained her, feeling a slight buzz go to his brain. She must’ve had wine with her dinner.
Her knees gave out but he held her up as if she weighed no more than a feather. She was sighing and whining, and eventually turned into tiny pants before it stopped altogether.
As her heart was thudding its last few beats, he laid her down on the pavement and took a moment to arrange her body nicely; legs together, hands clasped over her stomach.
When her heart stopped, he took out a mirror, checked his face for blood (as if he ever spilled a drop), then walked out of the alley as if nothing had happened.
And as far as he was concerned, nothing did.