All nights are different; all have its own flavor, its own treat. After almost five hundred years he has learned that, no night is like another. He likes them so much that he enjoys just walking through its darkness and being part of them. Maybe there will be a time he gets bored of it and wants to meet for one last time a bright new dawn, but just not now, life or un-life is too full of promises, too full of hopes to give up.
Henry has always been proud, he had been a blood prince when he was alive, now he is a prince of another kind, and his realm is the night and he is the main ruler of all the beings in his territory. No need to show, no need to prove anything… the biggest predator doesn't need to show fangs to make the others to respect him, they know by instinct not to cross his path. Even humans, with all their skepticism about the supernatural, with all their faith in science and rational thinking; even them feel his power and keep away for their own safety… if they are smart enough. Otherwise… well, he has ways to show them wrong.
Like the tiger with his streaks, he has his own ways to pass unnoticed. Even the humans have their own way to camouflage themselves and to show up. Men working out in gyms, with fancy aftershaves and bright cars. Women with high heels, small dresses and make up. All part of the game of hunting.
The only thing that he regrets, if you can call it regret, is to have become a vampire too young. He has the looks, the presence, the charisma… but he looks young and most women don't look young twice. He has ways to make them change their mind of course, but it would be much easier if he could look thirty, to say something, instead of just about twenty.
Young girls are easy preys, they have always been. They could be pretty, but usually haven't had enough time to become interesting. Just like a hamburger: tasty, saciant, but not a gourmet meal by far, and after five hundred years eating hamburgers… well, you get the idea.
Getting into the club is the first shameful situation of the night. He's five hundred years old for God's sake! But every single time he has to show his fake identity card to pass the guards. Of course he has a VIP pass, something that's useful for his purposes, but even so, the same old question of "son, are you sure you are over twenty-one?" is getting to his nerves more and more each time it happens. That's why he tries to go to the same places more often than he should, to make the guards know him and avoid that disagreeable trick.
This night the line in front of the club is long and doesn't seem to be moving, he passes the rest without looking and approaches directly to the guard with his VIP card in hand. He lets him in immediately.
