The Fire Nation was a beautiful place this time of year, with sandy beaches and hot, hot sun, as it was most times of the year. It was near the winter solstice, not usually a time for celebration among firebenders, but the last fifteen years had been an exception. Fifteen years ago, on the winter solstice, a baby boy had been born to two very, very important people–Princess Ursa and Prince Ozai of the Fire Nation. Now they were Fire Lord and Lady Ozai and Ursa, and their baby boy Zuko was a strapping young Crown Prince. He was beloved by the people, despite his less-then-spectacular firebending prowess, and his birthday was one of the biggest events of the year.

And, of course, who would Jet be to miss his prey's birthday celebration?

And such a lovely celebration it was. Delicious smells wafted on the air of the marketplace, tickling Jet's nose and making his mouth water. Whatever happened to the Prince, he could enjoy this, here and now.

Prince Zuko. He and his family had held a place in vampire culture ever since the first Fire Lord of their dynasty had united a couple of the Fire Islands and started conquering the rest. They were rumored to be fast, ruthless, practically the perfect vampires–all while still being human. Ozai and Ursa, especially, had sent shockwaves through the communities. Their battle prowess was legendary; their bloodthirst, more so. When news of a son reached Jet, he had had to take the chance.

Nights. A Royal sired. The family bred themselves for beauty and strength. Zuko would be the perfect combination of allure and skill, and he would be all Jet's.

Cries from the crowd jolted him out of his reverie. "The Prince! The Prince!" Jet stood in the middle of the road–right in their path! The cobbles beneath him echoed the sound of his and the crowd's feet as they scurried into the sides of the road, clearing the way for the celebration. A ways away, to his right, Jet could see the dancers and flower bearers carrying their baskets of petals, scattering little drops of softness and color on the hard gray stones. Behind them, he could see the royal palanquin. It was a beautiful, stately thing, with no less than twelve well-muscled bearers. The gauzy curtains were drawn back to give an excellent view of the family inside, but Jet couldn't see for the distance. Instead, he drew back a little, into the shade of a jewelry stand. It wouldn't do to have Zuko get a good look at him yet, no matter how he wanted to leap from the crowd and snatch him away.

The crowd began to drop into kowtows as the procession drew closer. Jet lowered himself into the low kneel, frowning at the deep humiliation. He was an immortal! Why should he have to bow to such short-lived creatures, no matter how many troops they commanded?

Yet…

He could smell them from here. Spicy and sweet and full of the life Jet had craved for fifteen hundred years. It pulsed through him, a lovely warmth spreading from his nose to his face, then down, down, down, until it was a deep-seated, primal heat, an echo of the human urge for procreation. He raised his head, just a little, trying to capture more of the perfume they exuded. His nostrils flared and his eyelids flickered shut as he let the sensation overwhelm him, fill him, for a precious moment. The flesh above his canines pulsed. His eyes fluttered open again to see the Royal Family seated on their palanquin. Ozai and Ursa sat in the back, conversing. Azula was very good at hiding her disinterest. Zuko stood at the front, waving and smiling genially at the people.

Zuko.

The heat in his gut doubled at the sight of him, his Fangs pressured on the edges of his mouth and he was dying to let them through, desperate to leap from his hunter's position and sink his fangs into that soft, pale neck, take the Prince far away from here, somewhere where he could teach him and take him and love him the way he deserved to be loved—

The Prince looked over sharply and Jet ducked his head back down. Nights. Had he been seen? Had he given himself away so quickly? He could feel Zuko's eyes searching the crowd for him, inspecting each and every bowed head as he tried to find the threat–

"Come on, Zuko!" a bored Azula called from her seat by their parents. "Can't you stop looking for assassins in every shadow for one day?" Ozai turned and glared at her, and she resumed her smiling mask.

Murmurs rolled through the crowd at the mention of assassins, but Zuko's genial smile was back on his face. "There are no assassins!" he called out to the crowd. "It was only a little…" He looked over at Azula, pride and murder in his eyes. "…misplaced exaggeration."

The people calmed at his words. Jet felt the collective tension evaporate from them and smiled at the irony.

In a sense, they were both right. If all went to plan, Zuko would die in the process, but by the end of it, he would be alive and well and living with Jet somewhere far away from prying eyes and too-high expectations.

The palanquin bearers, who had stopped for Zuko's little suspicion, started walking again, and the crowd rose out of their katas, continuing business as usual. Jet didn't get up for a few beats after those around him. For a moment, he stayed down, savoring the sight and sound of the Prince. Pearl skin and raven hair danced before his eyelids, that sweet-savory mixture tickling his nose.

But he couldn't stay in his fantasies forever. He straightened himself up, opening his eyes and letting out that precious breath, reluctantly dragging himself back to reality. The crowds bustled around him as they had before, the procession having turned onto another street.

Even so, he smiled a little. If there had been any doubt as to whether he should do this, it was long gone. Zuko would be his.

Jet's smile only grew at that thought.

So, um, I'm still alive. And I'm a much better writer now. And it's not just my flash fictions I'm working on, I swear.