Tasteful Darkness

Chapter 1

Balendin - Now

For thousands of years, humans have thought of love as a means of connection and fulfillment. For thousands of years, I have disagreed. Even now, as someone presses his warm lips against mine and mumbles a name that isn't my own, I can't help but feel bored.

My mind wanders to what the night will bring. So far I've been wandering through the city, this man—whose name I've long forgotten—trailing by my side the entire time. We just finished drinking at a small tavern that served nothing but ale, and now we're pressing ourselves against the side of the same building. Not surprisingly, we are not the only ones out here.

The air bites at my face, but I cannot feel the cold that comes along with it.

After I'm finished with the man, there's no telling where I'll go and what I'll find to spend my time on. Worst case scenario I find yet another bar and drink until the world around me fades away. That always seems to work just fine.

The man finally pulls back, looking down at me and my blouse that has fallen down my shoulder. In this form, I'm at least a head shorter than him. He thinks his height makes him intimidating. All he is good for is blocking the light from my face.

"You aren't enjoying yourself?" he asks, pouting. He steps away, his head no longer shielding me from the glare of a nearby streetlamp.

I slide my hand up his chest and grab the base of his neck, slowly aiding him in front of me once again.

"It's not you, darling," I say, faking a frown. "I'm simply starved."

"Let us find a place." He starts walking, and I follow. Anything to get somewhere less crowded.

"There is a festival tonight at the square," he explains. "Music, drinks, food. Nearly everyone will be there, I'm certain."

Too many people. "Sounds lovely, but we should take our time. I can wait."

He smiles. The sounds of people chatting fade behind us as we walk further down the desolate streets.

It's a shame, really. I try to go for those who deserve this—men who try to take advantage of me when I'm in my female form are my favorite targets. I barely have to do anything to have them falling at my feet.

"It's been fun," I say, my smile widening.

"Do you want—"

I dig my fingers into his shoulders and rip him towards me. His lips collide with mine, but neither of us pull away this time. His body slides closer, and I nearly thank him for doing the work for me.

I breathe him in. Not in the way humans do, but in a way that loosens his soul and makes it that much easier to take.

He rips himself away. "What was—?"

It's too late. My hand, still on his chest, curls against him. It isn't stopped by clothes or skin or bones. It slips inside his body, and I feel my fingers wrap around something that flutters at my touch.

The man's eyes widen. He tries to shout, but no sound comes out. He belongs to me now.

"I really am sorry." I mean it, too.

I rip my hand away. His body slumps in on itself and he falls to the wet cobblestone. Left in my hand is an orange sphere that perfectly fits in my small palm.

Souls aren't warm, not like people expect them to be. They aren't particularly cold either—most of the time, at least. It's more a fidgeting ball of energy that refuses to stay in my grip without a fight. If it were to escape me, it would return to its body and be reunited. The man would wake up and no doubt run or try to kill me with his bare hands.