A/N: un-beta'd, oops.
Vampire warnings again.
Summary for this chapter: Will is drawn to a smell like he hasn't been since his youth.
Will chases the metallic taste from his fangs and bottom lip. Sherri, the woman he drinks from once per week, has pushed him away gently. He nods, keeping his eyes away from her open wound. The smell of thick life oozes out of her pores like aphrodisiac, but Will knows how to clamp down on his urges. It's been two hundred years since he's killed anyone while feeding; he's a professional now.
He wets his fingertips with his own blood, pressing them against the two holes so they'll heal up faster even before she asks him to. "Thanks," he mutters quietly.
"I'm sorry to leave you with half a meal," Sherri says. "It's just that I have a date tonight, and he wouldn't believe me if I said a vampire drank my blood and that's why I have these bruises around my neck."
Will nods, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. If he continues to suck remnants from his fingers, he'll have to go find someone else – who may not be willing – to contribute to his meal. It's too much work, and there's too much guilt involved with that.
She waves goodbye as Will subtly creeps back into the lane he came from earlier. He watches her go, hidden in a corner of the shadows, to make sure she doesn't get attacked by another vampire while the smell of him still clings to her. If any of the younger ones – or the ones with no self-preservation – find out that she feeds freely, she would be in trouble.
Her heels click on cement all the way to her car, and she drives off. Will lets out a sigh of relief and straightens his jacket, rushing down the lane towards the public park.
XXX
Homeless people tend to forgive his quick sips; they're usually too tired or inebriated to care about the bite marks he leaves in their wrists or arms. Their blood certainly isn't the best – not like Sherri who jogs and eats only vegetarian food – but it will suffice. He only needs enough to survive until tomorrow when his other donor, Tom, returns from vacation.
The man smells like urine and vodka when Will sinks his teeth into bare throat. The taste is almost – almost – enough to distract from the putrid smell wafting into his nostrils as he sucks the man's blood like he's sipping from a straw. But then another smell appears—
Will's mouth hangs open while he inhales the waves of sweet release floating through the air. The man's blood drips from his lips, skating down his chin. Stains of red fall in blotches against the man's clothing, blending in with the piss and vomit residue. It doesn't matter; Will doesn't care. That aroma is all he can think about now.
He leaves the park, trailing after the perfume like a starved man chasing a bone. It expands and gathers more irresistible fumes as Will approaches; he salivates, blinded by hunger like he hasn't been in two centuries. He prays to all gods that it isn't a child, or some virginal girl doing this to him.
The scent brings him through the city, alleys and laneways, through a parking lot with no cars, and across street after street. He realizes belatedly that the smell is in motion – which would explain why it's carrying so far from the starting point.
An elegant home with vines growing up one side of it is where it finally leads Will. Taking in a deep breath, he's able to confirm this is where the smell has settled. He's careful as he walks across the freshly-cut grass; he hunches over when he reaches the stone walkway, moving from shadow to shadow; he ducks behind a bush when there's rustling somewhere to his left, but it turns out to be a dog; he's still consumed by what's making his mouth water when his hand decides to turn the knob and step inside uninvited.
"Who's there," calls someone, seated in a throne-like chair. Will wonders why none of the lights are on.
"Sorry," he says, mind still reeling from the earlier chase. It's the closest he's come to hunting like he used to as a young vampire; he forgot how alive it made him feel, how much fun it could be.
The person stands from the chair with a creak. His steps are measured, precise, as he walks towards Will. Shadows hide and reveal parts of his face simultaneous. His jaw is square; his nose is pointed but narrow, small – cute, Will would say if he were a woman; his hair is dirty blond, slicked back into a small ponytail; his lips curve into a half heart, almost as if pursed; his teeth flash with red tips when Will glances down at them; and his eyes – they match the crimson slick dripping from his teeth.
When he's finally close enough that Will can see all of him, he stands a few inches above Will. "I'm so glad you decided to stop by, William," he purrs.