Évrard D'Aboville has been the lethal left hand of King Sabien Arceneaux for centuries. Using his deadly skills, he's indiscriminately killed and maimed at his master's behest. He had never once been disobedient. That is until he was asked to kill a...
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Évrard D'Aboville-The Creature
I could close my eyes and taste her. She stopped to glide clear lip gloss over her thick lips in her reflection on the badly graffitied plastic at the bus stop. The pink cotton of her uniform skirt fluttered in the heated breath of August.
Her dark tendril curls told the truth of age, that her all too healthy body betrayed. The scent of lavender in her hair, clashing with the cheap perfume applied all too generously. The tempting plumpness of her generous frame stuffed into an outfit two sizes too small. Were I of a different mind, tonight might result in a more satisfying outcome...for her.
The scent that now beckoned her to me as an offering was likely a gift from a lover. Who I'm sure no one without my keen senses could know had freshly licked her in all the places I was certain to ruin.
I imagined her pretty face would sketch a lizard-eyed vacancy when I grasp her throat and bit more into her spine than her neck. By 500 AD several years after I turned, I was already a try and fail surgeon. I knew how to bypass a nervous system before it was ever mapped. My precision has grown exponentially since then.
I wasn't always this gentle but I don't want them to hurt if they don't have to. I just want her to drain and drain. Until I am sopping up bits of blood off the floor boards with what was once her dimples. I planned to take her back to my room where convenient silk curtains backed by thicker wool ones would shut out the sunlight then I could be permitted to dine for hours uninterrupted. It would be at least two days before anyone would think to look for her.
She walked into a dark alley and rested a moment against an oak tree. The local park it belonged to had long closed for the evening. It was almost too easy. She was welcoming me, really. I decided upon the usual routine. Break the spine and bite down hard, rip veins from the neck, bones, and flesh. That is only the start of it.
To visualize you will only need to think of a pop-top can of soup poured straight down. Or a frat boy with a keg in the air and how his face greets that warm splash with a boyish jollity. He can't take it in all at once but he can certainly try. That is me at feeding. I can never wait for it.
