After Hours (VAMPIRES PART 1)

Interlude

ROSEANNE

One Year Ago

There is a strange phenomenon in cities. You can go your entire life and never bump into a person who lives just two streets from you. But once you do, the city conspires to bring you together, like waves to the shore.

That was how it was with Lisa and me.

I was the moth, and the city set light to her flame. For a year, we met in passing, casual occasions and coincidences. I saved her from a rowdy vampire protesting the cure at the Festival of Blood, she was on a night out with hunters in the Whisper Club.

On and on it went until she relented, or perhaps I finally charmed her.

"Happy anniversary," I say, holding a glass of vintage Sanguis Cūpa out to clink against Lisa's.

"Happy anniversary, I can't believe it's been a year," Lisa says and cuts a sliver of steak, which elicits those delicious sounds of pleasure when she chews and swallows.

The restaurant we're in seated us at the back relatively out of the way to prevent me terrifying the other guests.

But it's filling up, a busy night for expensive dinners it seems, so Lisa and I swap seats, putting my back to the restaurant so that I don't scare the customers away.

"I bought you a gift," Lisa says, and slides a small rectangular package across the table.

"What is it?" I ask.

She shrugs, her eyes glinting at me.

I unwrap it and find a remote. "What is this?" I ask, poking at the buttons.

Lisa gasps. Sits bolt upright. Her cheeks flame pink.

I frown at her, then glance back at the remote as the realisation dawns on me. A slow smile spreads across my lips.

"Are you wearing what this controls?" I ask.

"Maybe." She presses her lips together trying to hide the grin.

"Oh, I am going to enjoy this evening very much."

She giggles at me.

I lean forward, "Are you wearing any underwear under that skirt."

Her eyes bug wide but she nods.

"Take them off," I whisper.

"Roseanne!"

"Take. Them. Off."

"Shit," she says. But she obliges, wiggling under the table as discretely as she can. Then I feel her foot slide between my thighs as she deposits a G-string.

"Happy?"

"I will be when you tell me your name."

"Never," she says.

My eyes narrow and I hit one of the buttons.

"Eek," she squeals and then slaps her hand to her mouth. "Roseanne," she growls.

But this is too much fun not to see it through. I take a sip of blood from the goblet I've been served. It's O negative, and a vintage, I think, 21-day aged.

"We're going to play a game; I'm going to make you come and you're not allowed to make a sound. And if you do... you tell me your real name."

"And if I don't?"

I shrug. "I don't like your odds."

"If. I. Don't?"

"Then your name can stay secret forever."