Strands of raven hair twined between varying braids cascade over her back. She has fair skin covering her petite frame. Kaybre's eyes pulse a smoldering crimson. She always wears simple gray dresses and ribbons. People stare: why does she wear black ballet slippers? She walks on quietly.
Today, Kaybre stands, waiting for rain. She loves the lavish sound of rain, the smell, the taste. She doesn't get to see it much anymore; she's moved to an apartment without windows. She can still hear the thunder, but not the rain. Not the tears falling from sky's eyes. The droplets sing to her. But she doesn't speak. She's mute. Something happened 380 years ago that made her very, very, poignant. Very poignant. Now, she's always ducking her head, looking down. But she can be bold. When she wishes it to rain, if she wishes it really hard, it will fall. It's her way of speaking.
She's a vampire, transformed on October 6, 1627. She remembers the exact day. But she doesn't look it. She looks 17.
Now, Kaybre just stands, under the gathering storm clouds outside a gas station. She looks vulnerable, out of place. She is out of place. Odd as it may seem, it is her favorite place. It's where she likes to spend her time. She observes the people driving in their cars. Mustangs, Land Rovers, Corvettes, you name it.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a young man, possibly around the ages of 18 to 20, with a Benz. He's watching her without knowing it. It's natural for her vampire aura to make her more attractive to humans, even more than she already is.
Surprisingly, he advances first. He's asking for it. Kaybre's eyes instantaneously fix on his and he falters and tenses. She smiles lightly and he looks more relaxed. She can read his thoughts. He wanted to ask her out.
He arrives at her spot by the newspaper vending machines and starts to speak. His voice flows smoothly.
"Hey, you really stand out at a place like this."
Kaybre says nothing.
"Well, are you free this Friday night?"
Kaybre leans forward and rests the palm of her hand against the man's cheek. She smirks to herself. He thinks she's gonna kiss him. Her lips part, as do his. He closes his eyes. She might as well humor him. He bends closer. She reaches up and wraps a soft hand across the nape of his neck. Stretching forward, she kisses him, deep and thick. Their lips and tongues dance for a moment, in harmony. He's an excellent kisser. She breaks away and tightens her grip on the back of his neck, forcing him to lean his head back and he exposes even more flesh. Her lips, never leaving his skin, slip down to his throat. Her tongue grazes the skin tenderly as she reveals lustrous pale fangs. He moans softly and she rests her other arm against his back.
"Damn… you…"
Kaybre was damned almost 400 years ago.
The tips of the daggers in her mouth touch the flesh, and then slowly, painlessly, sink in.
Kaybre sucks in the blood. She drinks in the warm, iron-tasting sensation of his being as he stands, helpless against her feeding. She feels the color slowly returning to her thirsted cheeks and ecstasy of the man's blood coursing through her veins. Reluctant to let her prey go, she forces herself to stop feeding before she took away too much from him. No, not prey. She doesn't want to think of him as prey. She doesn't like that word.
He falls limp in her arms and collapses into her as soon as she draws her fangs from his throat. Lifting his head closer, Kaybre licks away the blood left trickling from his throat. She feels the hues of her scarlet eyes grow more intense from the replenishment. With her blood-reddened lips, she kisses his fore head before laying him down inside his Benz. She then licks her own, flushed lips.
Tell me how you liked this story! I know that there aren't any of AAW's original characters….yet. Please R&R! It will be much appreciated.
