Charlie

Coup

Luke arrived in New Orleans three days ago but he already decided he was never leaving. The architecture was pretty but simple. Lovely reds, browns and whites colored two-story buildings and green, purple and yellow lights lit up streets at night. He spent his time partying and clubbing with wild humans, taking tours of swamps and old buildings well into morning, when they slept to repeat it all. Just like him.

New Orleans wasn't perfect. It was hot and humid, there was a constant smell of trash and vomit, but Luke also smelled sugar, rum, perfume and the sweetest copper. He didn't need to what he was either. Five people had gone missing since he'd arrived, but everyone was too busy having fun to notice. Luke LOVED this place. His favorite part was how easy it was. 

Tonight it rained and he had company. He'd pulled away the woman dancing with him and led her into an alley. Luke caressed her soft face, his thumb gripping under her chin as they kissed. Her name was Erica or something like that. It didn't matter. She'd be dead in a few minutes. When he pulled away, her eyes were still closed. Good. Luke's smile hid his fangs. Then he heard it. No, it was what he didn't hear. He was accustomed to hearing the rapid heartbeats of city's humans but there was suddenly a presence near him without one. Someone like him. He lost his grip on the woman when something struck the side of his face.

For a moment, Luke felt like dead weight. He knew that the bone in his face had caved inwards, and that his body had crashed through two brick walls. Luke slumped to his knees and was sickened by the sight of his own blood dripping to the ground. Before he could ask himself what the hell happened, something gripped the back of his shirt and Luke soared upwards, pain shooting through his back as he crashed through the ceiling.

He was weightless again. The sky was gray and wet. The only light came from the neon signs and lamps below.

He blinked furiously to ignore the pain. Below him the stupid humans "oohed", "aahed", clapped and took pictures on their phones. He heard a shift in the wind. This time he took a breath, forcing himself to concentrate. This time he saw what hit him as pain crept from his sternum into his ribs. The woman punching him had fiery red eyes and a look Luke recognized: hate.

Her blow knocked away the rain and sent Luke to an abandoned cemetery. His body made a crack in the ground and upturned graves, spilling dirt bones and ash in the mud. Luke swallowed painfully as the bones in his face, sternum and ribs set themselves and began healing. He staggered to his feet and immediately fell to one knee. He'd never been hit that hard in any of his lives. Luke heard movement but this time, he moved and a cloud of dust rose in front of him.

Luke forced himself to straighten. His new blazer and jeans had large tears and were caked with dust but he slid his hands into his pockets like that was the style he was going for. The dust cleared and the woman bared her fangs at him with a hiss. She had a pretty face, dark brown hair, caramel colored skin and wore jeans and a white shirt under a leather jacket. Her eyes were wild with angry recognition--this attack was personal. Luke wasn't sure how they'd met but she had to be strong being here. 

"Have we met?" he asked casually.

This time he was ready. He heard the woman's muscles tense and she sailed past him harmlessly after he stepped aside. Her breathing became less jagged and she exhaled before responding.

"You killed me," she growled.

Luke snorted. "Sweetheart, I've killed a lot of people. Why don't you..."

He caught a new scent. This one he knew. Luke laughed.

"That's what this is?" Luke turned and saw the mate of the last Regent. The Canon still wore the stupid black turtleneck and green trousers from the night he killed his wife. If he hadn't recognized his scent, Luke would have thought he was a homeless man.