Lunch is by far my favorite time of the day. I book it down the corridor in frantic anticipation, hoping like hell there's still a cheeseburger waiting for me at the end of it. They always run out pretty fast, so I try to catch my spot in line early on Wednesdays. Except theater had ran late today. I'd sat on the edge of my seat for fifteen minutes; knee bouncing, stomach gurgling, bits of my sweater frayed from picking anxiously at the sleeves.
I don't play about missing meals. Bad things happen when I don't have something solid in my belly. It'd been three days since the incident and I haven't recovered yet. The last few nights were spent tossing and turning and replaying the exact moment over and over in my head as if I could change the outcome. Short of turning over time with my bare hands, which it turns out is actually a thing, I can't rewrite history nixing the moment my fangs had extended and taken a chomp out of Noah Sinclair's arm. I'd come away with clumps of fabric stuck between my teeth, a terribly bruised ego and a cantankerous Necromancer who looked as if he'd rather stab a stake through my heart than hear any heart felt apologies from me.
Was it his fault I couldn't keep my fangs to myself? No. Did I deserve his look that reduced me to little more than a flea perched downwind from a dog's asshole? Also, no. But, did I blame him? I mean, kind of... Who has the audacity to bleed and look that downright delectable in the presence of a hungry vampire? It's pretty much asking for trouble.
Never the less, I have to behave myself or risk expulsion and this is basically all I have going for me right now. Let's face it, it's hard out here for a vamp. People don't tend to stick around once you accidentally suck their blood, it really kills the vibe or whatever. Plus, I'm making friends here. Well, not really, but mostly no one pays me any mind, they just let me exist and at this point I'll take it.
My skirt swishes in the breeze as I'm all, but running down the hall. Chin tucked down to my chest, mouth clamped tightly shut over my sharpened canine's made for ripping into flesh, even as I desperately demand them not to. My body begs to spring across the width of the hall when a door opens to my left and a girl, Melody I think her name is, bustles out of the art room. She gives a startled yelp, but somehow still manages a polite smile as I fly past her. At this point I'm not even hiding my fluid, inhuman movements. I'm too focused on tamping down the adrenaline pumping through my veins before my limbs turn to full-on lethal weapons and decide to rip her pretty little fairy head from her pretty little fairy shoulders with the swipe of my pinky.
Monsters are friends, not food. I remind myself, holding my breath until the sound of her pulse is a distant echo that I'm mostly just imagining at this point, having put enough distance between us in the same amount of time it'd taken her to lift one foot from the floor.
I'm home free when the delicious smell of human food peeks around the corner.
That was close. I should probably have a chat with Nurse Tilda, one of those kooky shaman healers with amulets that can cure just about any magical ailment. Maybe she'll consider writing me a slip to carry snacks with me to class, lives are literally at stake here. But, thankfully, by the skin of my teeth, not today. I bust through the doors of the dining hall and take a big whiff of refreshing cheeseburger scented air and breath a sigh of relief.
Oil burning lanterns hang above each round table, casting a golden ambiance across the stone. Voices and laughter filter through the air while forks and knives clank merrily against plates piled high with little mountains of food. My mouth salivates as I weave my way through the chairs until I find a place at the back of the line.
Meals are self-serve from a massive buffet that offers a variety of options to accommodate the unique array of diets for a student populous that should only exist within the words of lore whispered across a camp fire or the dark pages of a gothic fiction.
I bypass the section of raw meat arranged elegantly over ice, preferring my blood from a pouch in the drink cooler. My feet follow the trail my nose is tracking and I wind my way through the lines of food to the burger station. After selecting from an assortment of buns I pile on two patties with melted American cheese holding them together like a processed glue of deliciousness. Next, a decently sized hill of crisp bacon strips because when has bacon ever steered me in the wrong direction? Never, that's when. Veggies, to balance out the ungodly amount of calories I'm about to consume in the very near future, and a generous slather of mayo and ketchup to top it off. I smash it all down with the top bun and stab my fork through the center to hold it together.
Fries and a fruit cup and I'll call it a day. I search those out, snagging some RH positive along the way. The pouch is nice and cold, just like I like it.
I finish up, swipe my meal card and ba-da-bing. One famished vamp-y coming through, folks, make way.
A vacant table at the edge of the cafeteria is where I plant myself and tuck into my food. Nobody bothers to join me, some blatantly avoiding the nine empty chairs around my table in favor of cramming in wherever they can fit. A burley dude with a tray full of raw beef ribs and chunks of grisly sinew sets his lunch down across from me and I'm amazed he actually has the balls to take a seat until I hear it scraping awkwardly across the walk way. A moment later he's snatching the tray up and situating himself between two of his fellow raw meat eaters. They tend to band together.
Whatever.
What would a shape shifter and a vampire have to talk about, anyway? Other than the fact, we've been sworn enemies in every fairytale ever, since the dawn of time. Well, mostly just the Twilight saga, but I'll stand by it. That guy kind of smells like wet dog and pennies, anyways.
Yeah, better to let that one go while I'm still ahead.
That's not to say it doesn't hurt my feelings the tiniest bit. Not too much because I'm a bad bitch and bad bitches don't cry, but, like, a small acceptable amount that wouldn't tarnish my bad bitch reputation.
I shove a fry in my mouth, chasing it down with a hearty mouthful of burger, and try to convince myself that's just the burn of acid reflux. No way could it be a painful twinge in the soft fleshy parts of my heart that so closely resembles a human's, it even fools me from time to time.
Instead, I focus on the chaos around me. Wolves to my front, Dragons to my left, Spellcasters situated two tables over. Creatures that turn into people at one, people that turn into creatures at another, apparently there's a distinct difference? I haven't completely figured out how that works, yet, but it's still early in the semester. There's time for sorting out that mystery. I pass over a table of sirens, careful not to make eye contact, I'd come to lunch explicitly heterosexual and I'd like to leave as such. Those ladies are too much...of everything. Nothing, but boobs and butts and sexual persuasion coming from that circle of the room.
There are divine deities in one corner of the dining hall and devilish creatures born from the ashes of the Underworld on the opposing side. Most days we're fortunate enough to find ourselves ring side, watching an epic battle of good versus evil unfold.
Nothing too monumentally world shattering goes down; not with holier-than-thou God's, always so conscious of the fragile veil dividing mankind from monster, and Hell Demons with more bark than they have bite. I'd hardly call it a war.
Still, it's always fun to watch a good, old fashioned ass kicking. So far I've learned two things: firstly, outside of those pearly gates divinity equates to power and sheer badassery, and two; demons can take a roundhouse like a champ. It's impressive, really. The way the guy just flies and flies until I see his body crumple into a pillar and careen to the floor. A spray of dust and rock chips shower from the spot where his body nearly cleaved the stone in half.
I suck at the straw on my pouch of blood, eyes tracking the violence. Minding my own business, might I add.
"Enjoying the show, bloodsucker?" A deep, gravelly voice whispers in my ear, too uber sexy for his own good.
Noah Sinclair, our resident Necro, stands bent at the waist over my shoulder. He snatches the last grape from my tray and pops it into his mouth and I wait to hear the sensual gulp as he swallows it before I swat him away.
Wouldn't miss that heavenly sound, I'm not crazy.
He evades my palm with an easy chuckle before he saunters off, his overly large friend trails along beside him. Not staggered, but perfectly aligned with one another, there's no natural instinct possessing the formation of their stride. It's easy, mutual.
Strange, considering his buddy's a wolf. They're pack animals, mostly mingling amongst themselves. I've never seen one so big, though. They're generally a leaner breed, some muscle structure sure, but nothing like this guy. I notice the table of wolves subtly bow their heads as the two men pass, showing respect for their alpha as he shoves Noah and cackles a boisterous laugh that echos around the hall.
I watch as Noah swaggers to his seat, women of all shapes and species flocking to surround him and I can't really blame them. He's hot, but that's about all he's got going for him. That dude's a major douche. So douchey, I can't do anything, but stare. And stare. Until it's uncomfortably obvious that I'm in fact staring. At him.
Please God, if you're listening, you have my permission to smit the shit out of me right now.
I just can't help it. He always looks so...good. For fuck's sake, the man's not even trying. A plain black hoodie and by the looks of his collarbones peaking out as he hunches forward over his meal, nothing underneath it, baggy sweatpants barely hanging on his slim hips. Hair mused all messy and cute and shit.
Fuck him. And her, a wolf snarls as I kick the seat out from underneath her and return it to the missing spot at my table. I fling my tray into the nearest trash can, still full with the remnants of my unfinished lunch, from ten feet away. The speed and sheer strength of the throw holds everything in place until it explodes at the bottom of the receptacle. A flurry of napkins fly from the mouth of the bin in a cloud and drift softly to the floor around it. All eyes from the surrounding tables blink over at the mess as a transformed muzzle, with snow white fur coating it's jowls, closes around my shoulder, but before her teeth can find purchase against my granite porcelain colored skin, I'm gone. Blurred to the naked eye as I slurp the last drops of blood from my drink pouch and send it hurtling like a frisbee into a can by the back exit of the cafeteria. It soars through the air faster than the speed of sound. You hear the thunk minutes after the streak of color disappears and every animal shifter in the room cranes their necks when it reverberates around the tin.
The blood courses through my system, sinking into my muscles and tendons, hardening them. I can feel the onset of a frenzy, fueled by hate and discontent. Blood usually does that for me. That's why I mostly reserve it as a night time snack when I can disappear and work off the energy in safe solitude. Lately, I've been extra snappy, trying to bite anything and everything that moves, so I've had to add more pouches throughout the day.
It's a flame that burns at both ends, unfortunately.
A paw with razor sharp protruding claws swipes at my back, hooking through my shirt and around the band of my bra. They tickle across my skin, but more than likely there's a deep, gaping cut. It'll heal up in no time, but rude. My body slams into the concrete floor hard enough to dent it perfectly into the shape of me. I giggle. Manically and deranged sounding as I pop back up onto my feet, fangs bared to the she-wolf now circling me and sniffing the air, pawing at the ground as if she's about to charge.
"Ooo, scary wolf," I joke, stretching my fingers out like talons before wiggling them playfully at her.
The wolf lunges, fur bristling and snarls ripping from her slender chest like a rumbling diesel engine. She's sleek, moving fluidly through the space between us, fast. But I'm faster, I slide beneath her, kick up with all the force my legs can manage until she's flying. Up, over tables, through the air with the precision of a missile until she lands sprawled on her back in the center of Noah's table. So perfectly aimed, not even the tip of her tail touches a single tray.
"Teach your boyfriend some fucking manners, dog. Or I will." I call across the room to her, my gaze flicking for a moment to the guy who'd swiped a chair from my table without even so much as a thank you.
Noah's gaze flits from the white wolf up to me, a smirk playing devilishly on his crooked lips. It almost reaches those hazel eyes, just almost. Rumbles from the table of wolves behind me chorus like a weird, fucked-up theme song for this outrageously preposterous moment until his eyes flicker to them. I think he's the reason their growls snuff out, but his friend is dead-eyed staring them down. The guy's nostrils flare and I hear an unmistakeable whimper, and after that, blissful silence coming from their direction. What's his name again? Ramon? Roman? Some R name, I think?
I focus my attention back on Noah who's winking at me now. His hand reaches up to brush back strands of tousled black hair from his eyes. Each finger adorned with a chunky metal ring; a plain silver band on his index finger, the face of a skull on the middle, on his ring finger a serpent coils around it from knuckle to knuckle. On his pinky finger, an oval-shaped onyx stone winks in the golden hue of the lamp above him.
Are we having one of those meet-cute moments, right now? You know, where the girl walks all slow-mo with her hair waving ridiculously behind her and the guy smolders like an idiot across the room with fuck-me eyes?
I've got to get out of here before I launch myself at him and perform some ancient ceremonial mating dance or something.
He tracks me through the hall as I flit around tables, careful not to touch anyone as I pass. That's enough fighting for one day. Not that any of them could catch me, it's not exactly a secret that very few creatures pose a threat to me here. That's part of their aversion.
Nobody likes the big, bad vampire girl and it shows. Casual conversation picks up as the doors slam shut behind me.
I blow through the corridors like a bat out of hell until I'm bursting from the main entrance and down the three levels of stone steps. My swift strides overtake the grounds in milliseconds and I round the mortar building, heading for tree coverage.
For the next hour or so my body will crave more blood. Maybe longer, considering how worked up I am. An elk will do the trick, it's not my favorite, but my options are scarce this time of year.
I prefer to hunt Black Bears and during the summer, I do, but to creep up on an unsuspecting bear during hibernation... my morals wouldn't allow it. Though, I'd gotten very good at managing the frenzy and only taking what I need from the animals to quench my thirst, it still feels wrong.
And more importantly, the chase is fun, the fight is exhilarating, and the endurance it takes to escape a pissed off beast is mind numbing. There's no other way to describe it. It's what I live for these days. Just me and nature. Me against nature.
I pause as I reach the line of trees, on one side it's sunny and bright and all things I can't stand right now, but a few feet in front of me... pitch black darkness. A place the depraved can come out to play. In a world where I'm not the absolute worst there is.
That's what I need, an exhausting run because that's all an elk is good for anyways, and solace from the judgement at my back, right inside that building.
Worst of all is Noah's. And sure, maybe he has a pretty sound reason for judging me, but still. I don't like it.
So what, I sucked your blood. It wasn't even that much. Get over it. You fucking suplexed me into a fucking tree. Jackass.
I grumble to myself as I tilt my face towards the canopy of leaves. Before I can take in a big whiff, a soft chuckle comes from my left.
Speak of the mother fucking devil.
Leaned against the long trunk of a pine like some emo Greek God, his fingers absently toy with a pendant that hangs around his neck. The hood of his jacket is pulled up so he almost blends in with the blanketed forest. I can make out two silver hoops in his nostril and the metal balls of his eyebrow ring. And that evil smirk, I could make that out with my eyes closed, I think. He's such a fucking villain and I hate how much I love that.
My nostrils flare at him.
Maybe I'll just freak him out a little. I twist just enough to let the sun shining on my back glint against my fangs, letting my lips draw back in a grin of my own that shows them off. He'll catch the hint and find some other unsuspecting victim to be a dick to because I'm over it. I don't care how cute he thinks he is.
Or how cute I think he is...
"Do you even know what a suplex is?" He asks, that mischievous grin never wavering, eyes twinkling. "And I'm a jackass? Well, I guess I've been called worse."
"What? You read minds, too?" I accuse, and it earns me another chuckle. This one's more exasperated than the last. Like having to talk to me is just the worst. But he doesn't really need to be out here with me. So why is he? "What do you want? Come to mock me some more? I was just about to go suck some blood. Because you know, I'm a bloodsucker and all."
"Ew, gross." Noah teases, but the grin that transforms his face isn't anything I've ever seen before. He's looked at me hatefully and disdainfully and outright menacingly, but never so...friendly. I don't even know if friendly would be the right word, but for once I don't feel like an ant beneath his magnifying gaze. And I'm not sure I know how to take that. "No, I don't by the way. Read minds, I mean. Unless you want to count me overhearing your thoughts." He pauses a moment, his head tilting as his gaze racks over me. It's not sensual or flirtatious the way he looks at me, but rather it's inquisitive. Like I'm a puzzle he can't quite piece together. "When you spoke them. Out loud."
Oh geez. Of course, I did. Because why wouldn't I do some dumb shit like that?
"Right." I clap my hands and turn my face back up, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. "So, you can run along now that we cleared that up.
His thrumming pulse peeks my interest, but I make a conscious effort to ignore it, and the rich musky scent wafting off of him, I ignore that, too. Instead, I turn my senses towards something earthier, gamier. Literally anything less enticing then him. At this point I'll settle on a field mouse if it gets him safely away from me.
"I can't concentrate with you standing there and staring at me like that," I complain, trying my hardest to search out any other scent, but I'm full of him. Intoxicated by him. It's annoying.
"What are you doing exactly?"
"Hunting."
"People?" He asks incredulously.
"Yes, Noah, I'm hunting people. In the deep dark woods. You guessed it." I shoot him finger pistols and squeeze my eyes tighter. Hoping if I ignore him hard enough he'll just poof out of my presence. Kind of like how he'd gotten here in the first place. That reminds me...
"How'd you beat me here? How'd you even know where I'd come?" I ask, peeking an eye open to see his initial reaction to the question. I'm a strong believer in body language. Sometimes it speaks louder than words.
"I didn't," he shrugs. "I followed you, I just can't believe you're so incredibly unobservant. I thought vampires have a heightened sense of hearing or some shit."
"I'm not a dog, Noah."
"No, just a leech."
I don't even know what to say to that, but his fierce eyes narrow on me. Is he waiting for my reaction, too? Obviously, that's what he's doing. Bullies thrive on inflicting damage. Too bad that's nothing I haven't heard before.
"Super original, Sinclair. Maybe next time say something actually worth crying over." I don't shout or insult him. I don't even glance in his direction another second.
I'm running, leaving him in the dust and disappearing into the deep foliage. Damp pine needles kick up under my shoes as I weave through the trees, my steps as silent as a pin drop and as quick as a heart attack. I hold my breath until I'm miles in, certain no human could access this remote area.
When I find a good stopping point, I take a moment to breath and size up the rounded edge of a large rock face and wonder how best to go about scaling it. The awkward angle it juts out at forms somewhat of a ledge over the glade. I suck in air until my belly bloats before letting it back out long and slow, then a few more times to mentally prepare myself. Logically, I know that I can pace back roughly eight big steps, position myself directly in front of that small boulder, and use it as a vantage point to spring myself up there. It's just the actual doing it part that makes me nervous.
Basically, I'm completely capable, I just suck at eternal life.
I take off in a fever pitch, pumping my arms and legs like my life depends on it. For the record, it doesn't and it never will again. I've one-upped the cat with nine lives.
My body springs from the boulder where I plant my foot and push off, sailing through the air like a bullet, and then I'm cresting the edge of the overhang. Sprawling when I land with a thud on the hard stone. The velocity sends me skidding, ripping clean through my sweater and tank top beneath, turning the thin slashes from the she-wolf's claws into a gaping hole that exposes most of my back. I barely register the cheese-grated scrapes across my skin, they're healing before I even have the chance to drag myself back up. Then I plop down on the rock's edge and dangle my feet, caring less and less by the ticking seconds about anything happening beyond this opening in the trees because this is it. This is all that matters. Me and blissful solitude.
Nature happens all around, teaming on the ground below and in the sky beyond the canopy above. I settle into it, let the sounds of life coax me with a steady, reassuring hand to the tiny bubble of peace this place provides. And for a moment, I just reflect.
I can't for the life of me understand why he's so mean. Nor do I think I want to. Some things aren't my business and his opinion of me happens to be pretty high up on that list. So why, now, does it suddenly bother me? Why does he bother me? No one's ever made my cold blood boil before. What is it about him that ignites that heat?
A few moments of introspection is all I can allow myself before I start to spiral. I'm left with more questions than answers and nothing, but a sour mood to show for it.
The scent of wild, pulsing blood piques my interest, stopping the free-falling emotions in their tracks as they plummet like stones in my belly. My pupils dilate and zero in on movement the normal, naked eye could never make out, ambling casually through the brush. It pauses as, what I assume is a snout, drops to nibble on a cluster of sprouts.
It's go time. And I'm flying, soaring through the air with my fear of heights long forgotten as instinct takes over and the hunt commences.
