Sweet As
If the night breeze would settle he would be able to catch her scent. It's blowing from him to her and ruffling the lace curtain at her second story window - there's enough moonlight even she would be able to see the soft white flash from here as it lifts and waves. Honeysuckle twists the rails off the back porch, its sweetness insinuating itself into the green odor of grass, of leaves, the sour smell of grasshopper and musk of red fox, sweet/sour of rich, dark earth. A deer moves in the shrubbery across the yard to his left unseen but heard. A scutter behind and to the right, possum by the smell.
It's nice they don't keep a dog. They generally fuss if they find him out. Cats don't, not if he stays calm and unthreatening. They know when you mean them harm.
He watches the window, thinks of her sleeping, lashes lying on her cheeks, breathing, chest rising and falling. If he closes his eyes, he can almost hear her. Her lips slightly open, air moving in, moving out. Her lips. Sookie Stackhouse. Sookie. He likes the way the inside of his lips brush against his eye teeth when he says her name. Sooookie. They tend to glide forward when he thinks of her; he tongues the left one. Sssookie. He is likely a fool standing out here in the middle of the night like a fourteen-year-old Romeo to her Juliet. So long to find her, a real southern belle, a true old style southern woman. So sweet, such a lady, but underneath, steel. The left side of his lips lift and pull picturing her flinging that chain around the man's neck, spitting fire at the female. He had sensed that fire from the first, and he'd been right. Only now he's caught like a moth to the flame, and the flame is inside, burning. He raises his left arm and grabs a low-hanging branch - to keep himself from walking out there into the moonlight, across the yard in the back door and up the stairs to her room.
He generally ignores the whine since they usually ignore him, not being warm enough to attract. He spies the one on his forearm and notes the sting as it probes and drinks. He knows what will happen. Vamps haven't been around long enough for evolution to make skeeters wise yet, and this foolish female makes three wild barrel rolls before floating dead to the grass at his feet. Stupid little blood sucker.