by Jessica French (Midnite363@aol.com)
Summer 1963 - America
The lights placed throughout the park by the city did nothing to make it any safer. To Shannon, the park was as light as day, even though it was nearly eleven o'clock at night. She could see everything, into every dark corner, under every tree. And she could see her prey.
He wasn't very big, but he was tall like a basketball player. He was walking north through the park, which meant he was probably coming from some late class or function at the school. Not like it mattered, but Shannon always liked to know a little about her prey before she pounced.
She sighed.
This was hardly the hunting her mind called for, but it would have to do. For a long time, she had lived in Russia. Russia because it was vast and the country was beautiful. Russia was a good hunting ground, she concluded.
The boy was drawing near the tree where she sat perched in one of it's heavy, dark limbs. She readied herself, a sharp intake of breath and...
She threw her arm up just in time to save her eyes, but the effort put her off balance, so when the bird's body hit her like a solid weight she toppled back and fell through the limbs of the tree. Branches and leaves slapped at her face before she felt only open space below her, and she hit the ground with a hard, audible thud. She lay on her back a moment, more angered than hurt, her eyes closed.
"Miss?" a voice asked hesitantly. "Miss, are you alright?"
Cracking one eye open, she couldn't help the amusement in her voice when she answered, "No, I think I broke my arm." She tried to sound hurt, but inside she was laughing. What luck, it was so rare to have them come right up to her. Then again, she never fell out of trees at their feet.
He smelled of after shave and hair spray when he bent down to help her up and examine her arm. The startled yelp when she grabbed him, flipped him onto his back and stradled him, wasn't as rewarding as it could of been, but she'd take what she was given. Shannon smiled down at him and sighed. He was young. "Just go to sleep, it won't be so bad," she advised even as his eyes clouded.
When she bent over him to feed, he was already snoring softly, and only made the smallest of sighes when she bit and fed.
He was sitting on a park bench, cleaning his nails with a pocket knife, when she walked up to him. She looked radiant from her feed, but she also looked annoyed. That was confirmed when she snatched the knife from him, leveled a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. The knife was practically up his nose when she said between her teeth, "Do that again and rest assured I'll make you regret it." Then she sighed, muttering, "You're an asshole Char," and sat down beside him, flipping the knife closed and handing it back.
Charles Dalmantia hadn't changed in all those years. He still wore his glossy auburn hair cleanly cut, he still had his wicked sense of humor and he still loved to frequent the best brothel's in Europe. America wasn't so bad either, but it lacked a certain class, so he has strayed from any such establishments here. He had, however, tracked down and kept an eye on Shannon since he arrived a week earlier.
"It was funny," he said.
She scrowled.
"It was funny," he insisted.
She looked over at him. "I'm going to have bruises for a week from that fall."
"You got your prey," he said with a smile that suddenly turned suggestive, "And I'll give you a massage if you ache so much."
She waved him off. "How long have you been in New York?"
"About a week. Thought I'd look you up." His English accent was thick compared to her dull Scottish lilt, toned down from year of living in America. "I found you, apparently. Hey what's wrong?"
Her face was white, and her eyes dilated. Only a week?! "Are you sure it's only been a week?"
His eyes narrowed in concern, "Yes, look I have my boat pass right here, it's dated for four days ago. What is it Shannon?"
Shaking her head she stood. She passed a hand over her face, roughly rubbing at her eyes. She had hoped, against hope, that the brush of mind she had sensed over two weeks ago had been Char's. She knew, for a fact, that she was the only vampire in the city. A fact, she stated stubbornly, because she hated to be wrong.
Closing her eyes tightly did nothing to stop the bubbling of panic in her throat and the animal instinct to run. Run fast.
She knew she was alarming Char, so she turned. And because he would know if she were lying... Char knew when everyone was lying... she told him.
"Damon knows I'm here."