Holybear's Little Note: No, GW does not belong to me. It belongs to a bunch of other very fortunate people. If you steal Angélique, I will kill you.
The Taste of Blood
By Holybear
"It's been too long."
Angélique St. Martin gazed through the darkened window, out to the lush courtyard that glimmered faintly in the moonlight. She turned to the silent figure behind her and murmured, "The undead have lost their impact upon this world." Her French accent resonated on the words, twisting between them and creating a sharp lilt to what she said.
"You would think that, Angeli." The figure stepped out of the shadows, revealing itself. A tall, handsome young man emerged, a long mane of platinum blond hair cascading over his back. Gleaming ice blue eyes glinted in the darkness that surrounded them. "Why do you care, anyway?"
"Because I am one of the undead! Do you not see? Our fate lies in the hands of humans, yet you stand there, Zechs, as though it did not affect you!"
Zechs chuckled. "I do care, my dear. It is simply not something I wish to brood upon."
"No," Angélique said savagely, "you would rather brood upon Treize Khushrenada. He is not of our family blood line."
"And you base your entire judgement of him on this one fact, would you not?" Zechs sighed. "I think that you should reconsider." He stared at her, ice blue meeting frigid green.
Angélique made no sound. She appeared to be deep in thought, plagued by what to say next. Quite suddenly, she looked up at him again. "I am going to feed. Are you going to come?"
"No. I enjoy the nightclubs of L4 enough to not harm their inhabitants."
"Then I will see you afterwards."
Angélique frowned, creasing her white face into worried lines. This did not bode well for her—immortals were being hunted down by humans and being eliminated one by one. Strangely enough, it didn't bother Zechs or Treize, which left her wondering.
With a sigh, she threw her long blond hair over her shoulder and walked seductively down the street. She paid no attention to the catcalls that greeted her, nor the disgusting invitations muttered by drunkards lounging on the pavement. Angélique was beautiful—she had grown used to the comments she received. Her hair was described as spun gold, her eyes were the color of the grass that grew in the park. She had been blessed with a gorgeous, leggy body, with enough curves to show she was female and a chest that attracted unwanted attention. It did not help, Zechs would say, that she wore tight clothing and delicate fabrics. Save for, of course, her leather outfits, the ones she wore to the nightclubs and to the hotel parties. A full moon glowed above her, illuminating a soft halo on her head.
And in that instant, she saw her prey.
Two young boys, no older than fifteen, with features that would make the prettiest girl in the world envious. One had a dark mop of hair that flopped over into his cobalt blue eyes. His face was fixed with a grim expression as a slightly shorter boy with a long chestnut colored braid and violet eyes chattered to him nonstop. Angélique smiled as she watched them. Beautiful things, weren't they? A shame they were so young; the change would have created them into stunning white marble. But a simple thing like that wouldn't hold her back, would it? Angélique's smile grew as she crept closer to the boys.