A Very Bad Boy

Michael always enjoyed the rain.

The first drops hit his face as he gazed heavenward, allowing himself a pleasured grin at the way it felt upon his skin. Tiny beads of water; almost tears to make up for ones he could no longer manufacture and not due to any physiological reasons either. Rather, Michael was much beyond tears at that point in his long and varied existence. One needed to experience sorrow – or in this case, regret – in order to permit themselves such mortal trivialities.

He never had much cause for either. Quite a pity for the girl sitting next to him.

A park bench and a dark, urban forest enclosed by metal gates and shortened fences that looked more decorative than intimidating to the populace. A bustling metropolis full of ants marching in time to minutes passing by like sand sinking inside an hourglass and he was mercifully bereft of all their worries. In here. His home away from home where the humans either had no worries or feared the very spectres of their shadows. He had a game he liked to play with them, to gage which of the two categories the mortals he came across resided in. It worked especially well on nights when the moon was hidden by the clouds and the streetlights were all that illuminated the walkway.

Much like how it'd been tonight.

Tonight, Michael smelled the impending storm the moment he walked into the park and heard the siren call of mischief tickling his pointed ears. Pausing by the entryway, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma none of the mortals could indulge in; that sensory experience of promise and expectation mingling with the humidity in the air. “A lovely night for a walk,” he mused to himself, his tongue licking the tips of his canine teeth. At that moment, the game was afoot and took a matter of moments to commence.

He strode to his favorite streetlight and leaned against it, digging within his pocket for the lucky silver lighter he'd kept with him for years now, despite the fact that he quit smoking sometime after the Depression. Now, it was a toy for him to tinker with, something to idly turn around in the palm of his hand while waiting for a conquest to come along. His eyes randomly shifted from the metallic object to each passerby with all of the patience of an immortal in selecting his prospective target. It all depended upon who wished to play.

Most people followed the shiver running up their spine and increased their gait by that half pace more, providing Michael with a thrill only predators could appreciate. He'd size them up and predict ahead of time which beat in their step would become interrupted or what else they would do to either attempt engaging him or avoid it altogether. Would they adjust their coats, buttoning them up while looking toward their companion rather than at the pale-complected man that inspired the rush of cold air creeping from the inside outward? Or would they be one of the others? One of the other type.

One of the unfortunate ones.

They were the unwitting fawns who paused – or stopped altogether – and allowed him to capture their gaze with his cold, silver stare. Michael loved the runners, that much was for certain, but when the darkness of a cloudy night shrouded part of his countenance in shadow and his eyes had the chance to glint the glow of the street light, he could wax an aura of mystique that made his targets putty in his hands. The upward curl of his grin would plead innocence while his eyes plead guilty; those who dared to play his game always loved the confluence of the two. They begged for the kind of thrill no carnival ride could afford them, because none of them wanted to be safe. They wanted to be tempted with one foot dangling from a precipice and the other daring to take the plunge.

Michael was all too willing to oblige.

He'd size them up, savor their aroma, and pause the obligatory beat before saying, “It's going to rain, you know. You'd best get indoors before you get soaked.”

An involuntarily chuckle bubbled from his throat as he recalled the way she'd reacted.

The girl beside him on the park bench, who possessed the same detached apathy Michael possessed as she absorbed raindrops with him. At the time he first spoke, though, she gave the rain a second's consideration, casting a quick glance upward; her long, brown hair falling from her shoulders and joining the matching locks upon her back. “It is?” she asked, shooting her gaze back to Michael just as quickly as possible. As though she'd slip away from whatever pleasant spell was emanating from Michael if she looked away for too long.

“Absolutely,” he said. “I always know when it's about to rain. I smell it in the air.” Michael pocketed his lighter, but didn't move from his position. Instead, he paused to look her over as she feasted upon the banquet before her eyes.

His longish hair falling on either side of a part down the middle of his head, the strands covered the tops of his pointed ears, making them a bit less obvious. His features had remained youthful all of these years, with not a blemish or scratch upon his flawless countenance to give away how many seasons he'd weathered upon this mortal coil. Michael often fancied it was mischief that kept him looking young. Downcast eyes and sullen faces were for the penitents and Michael could hardly be counted amongst their lot.

She was a sight to behold herself, a mortal in her early twenties with crystalline blue eyes and straight, white teeth that hinted at their own, somewhat duller, points. Her smile gave them away while her gaze remained transfixed upon his. “I don't smell any rain,” she said.

“Well, I do.” Michael stood straighter. He didn't motion for her yet, though. She wasn't fully his. “Besides, it's more than just the smell it's. . .” He motioned with his hand as he spoke. “The air pressure. The way the wind blows. I don't see the moon or the stars; you get what I mean. But, I doubt that you came out here for a weather forecast, did you?”

The girl chuckled, sizing Michael up while allowing the marriage of their eyes to become that much deeper. Mortal women never heard the word thrall outside of novels and movies, something Michael noted to himself with some degree of pleasure. They never knew when it was creeping into their subconscious either. Michael nodded toward her. “Why did you come out here – a young woman, alone in a city park? Monsters hide here.”

“I don't know,” she said. She broke from the gaze to shift her focus quickly toward the other end of the park. Her eyes returned obediently to their newfound master when she'd had a chance to make her point. “I was headed to the lake.”

“At this hour?”

“Yeah, I. . .” She paused, brow furrowed. A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “I. . . can't remember why. That's. . . strange.”

Michael laughed. “Just seemed like the right thing to do?”

“I guess so.”

His feet moved carefully from his position. Just one pace. “Is this a common thing for you, Miss–”

The word drifted into a pregnant pause. The girl picked up on the implicit question. “Jennifer. My name's Jennifer.”

“I'm glad you remembered that.” Another laugh. Barely the slightest showing of teeth. Jennifer didn't notice. “I was about to ask if it was common for you to forget where you're going.”

Jennifer shook her head. “I don't think so.”

She smiled at her own joke. Michael did as well and advanced another step.

Jennifer didn't notice.

“You're a clever girl,” Michael said.

“Thank you. You. . . are a handsome man.”

“I've had some tell me that.” Another step forward, followed by the bold move of capturing two more paces in its stead. Their gaze was almost firmly locked into place; he could sense her slipping. “I'm glad you think so as well.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I find you quite attractive yourself.” He made up the difference between them quickly and her failure to flinch emboldened him to raise his hand and tentatively touch a strand of her long, brown hair, tucking it behind her ear as he spoke. “I have a feeling the moon hid itself from us tonight on purpose.”

“What do you mean?” Jennifer's words started to degrade into a distant drawl, but hadn't yet arrived. So close. So, so close. He could almost smell it. He could almost feel her heart beat underneath her chest and sense the texture of her smooth, delicate skin; the way it would feel when it broke underneath his teeth. Pulse and liberty working in tandem, pumping the liquid flowing through her veins into his.

Michael struggled to continue the game, knowing how close he was to claiming his prize. “It's been a while since I've met somebody like you, Jennifer. A bit too long for a man like me. You know. . . it's lonely without companionship, within this big city. . .” He leaned closer to her. “So many people all within one place without one to call my own. It's a daily temptation for me to be a more impolite and impatient man.”

She nodded, but her eyes closed at his command and Michael snapped the door shut upon her psyche. Now she was a puppet on a string and he could do anything he wanted with her.

He opted for sampling the wares first.

Jennifer's mouth drifted open in a lazy smile while her lips met Michael's and rewarded his efforts with a kiss. Her taste warm and inviting, it became that much more so when she opened her mouth more fully and the tenor of the kiss became a symphony of two beings with similar desires. He inhaled her scent deeply, smelling the delicate perfume of lilacs atop the scent that drove him further from his wits than any fragrance could. It taunted at him just enough that he forced the kiss to end, with the union of their lips slowly crescendoing to a finish. Michael didn't drift far from her. He paused to allow her breath to hit his cold skin and warm it with temptation.

“I don't know your name,” Jennifer whispered.

“It's an unnecessary detail for you, dear,” Michael replied, his voice still a sultry shiver. “Follow me. There's someplace a lot quieter waiting for us. I want to get to know you better; in that way that only two beings such as you and I can.”

Jennifer's eyes opened, but remained locked within sweet hypnotism. She nodded without knowing why and touched his arm while allowing him to lead both of them onto the pathway she'd been walking down mere minutes ago. Michael stopped to muse upon how this always played out, seeing within Jennifer a hundred other memories that'd taken place a hundred other times. The fairest women from his earliest days of seduction; the most recent conquests that only seemed to be getting fewer and further apart. He told himself it made these moments that much sweeter, but the truth was that living out an existence within the modern world made his game harder and harder to play. One day, he'd have to move on again. He always did within time. But for now it was just he and Jennifer.

And he was quite hungry for Jennifer.

His favorite spot emerged after a few minutes of quiet walking, Jennifer too lost within his suggestion to take note of anything other than the fact that her legs were moving and the wind had started making the aroma of moisture in the air more pointed as it swept past them both. Michael led her gently toward a park bench that was secluded within shadows, just the way he liked it. Within moments, they were sitting side-by-side with Michael turning to face Jennifer the moment he'd settled into place.

She closed her eyes when the first kiss found its way onto her cheek. “Do you know what I love about women like you, Jennifer?” Michael whispered.

“I don't know,” she answered, the lazy drawl resurfacing once again.

“You are so innocent.” He paused to kiss a patch of skin only a few centimeters lower than the previous one. “It's something I envy from time to time; I don't think I've ever been innocent. Even before I left mortality behind to become the devil I am now.”

“You're not a devil,” she said, tilting her head to the side obediently without a word of request being issued from Michael.

Michael chuckled with his mouth still pressed against her skin. Part of his lips remained touching the smooth flesh while the rest lifted in a wide smile that revealed teeth too sharp to be normal. It'd been decades since they were. “I am a very bad boy, Jennifer. The Big, Bad Wolf, which makes you Little Red Riding Hood. See how I lured you away from grandmother's house? If you were looking at me, you might ask yourself the same questions Little Red asked.”

He kissed a little further down. Jennifer groaned on instinct.

“What cold eyes you have,” Michael said, speaking for her. “All the better to spot somebody like you; to see into the depths of your soul and call you over to me.” When he brought his kisses further down, they touched her jawline and Michael paused again to issue the next question. “And what strange, pointed ears you have, Michael. Yes, Jennifer, all the better to hear your heart beat, thudding with the pulse of eager anticipation.”

Jennifer chuckled, still lost within her dream state. His lips found her neck and he ran his nose across the surface as though sniffing from a caster of wine and judging the contents accordingly. She was a woman of affluence; oh, those were always a feast for the senses. That pulse his imagination only teased him with before became a real and present temptation at last with its steady rhythm toying at him and drawing out something more than hypnotic suggestion and poison-laced words.

The pointed teeth which laid dormant within his mouth made themselves more pronounced and poked at the flesh that Michael ran his tongue across.

Jennifer furrowed her brow, with the smile upon her face an indelible fixture. “What sharp teeth you have,” she muttered, not even needing his prompting to issue the final proclamation.

“All the better to taste you with, my dear.”

Michael reared back only a few inches, just enough to give himself plenty of room to adjust his position and plunge his fangs through her flesh, starting the flow of blood. The thrall Jennifer was lost in prevented her from doing anything more than moan, as though he was kissing her again and not taking long, lusty drinks of her blood. Michael placed a hand upon the side of her face as one swallow became another and several more following it, rushing euphoria through him in a wave of bliss only vampires knew. His game, in his park. The wind sweeping past him once again while the pulse underneath his lips continued thumping until it slowed and prompted Michael to pull away at last. It took a moment for the experience to wash through him, but after another deep breath, he'd returned to his senses once again.

“I told you I was a bad boy, Jennifer,” Michael said as he paused to lick the blood from her flesh. His cool flesh felt warmed now, another present from Jennifer much sweeter than her embrace had been. A delighted grin swept across his face as he rested her against the back of the bench and the sight of crimson liquid running down the side of her neck only provoked a chuckle from his red-stained lips. “Rest the rest of mortals, Jennifer, and enjoy the night with me another moment.” He glanced upward before looking at her again. “It's about to begin.”

Sure enough, the rhythmic drops of rain hit his face just as he brushed his coat sleeve past his mouth, gifting him with an artificial pulse to compensate for his silent heart. The pseudo tears trickled down his cheeks – a startling contrast against the laugh he indulged in before he finally rose to his feet and started down the path again. For the first time in weeks, Michael felt alive as he returned to his apartment, leaving Jennifer alone on the park bench to catch the moisture from the sky with a rivulet of crimson still sliding down her skin.

Yes, Michael always enjoyed the rain.

It washed away the blood stains from the park benches for him.