Cosima was furious, far past the realm of manageable frustration. Why didn't we get goddamn smart phones? GPS would've been handy 2 hours ago.
Paris proved to be a labyrinth, ironically, a city she was balls-deep in and getting swallowed by. Cosima knew the others would be worried. Their faith in her was fueled by her vast understanding of micro-biology, not in her ability to navigate a foreign city, sans map.
She was still beyond pissed. If it weren't for her condition as an undead being, she would most definitely be sporting crimson cheeks and numb earlobes. The cold was almost as unforgiving as her urges to feed. Cosima's ability to bypass such mundane human follies proved to be her silver lining in this grim chapter of her existence.
As the sky began to grow a monotonous shade of purple, the lights dotting the cobbled streets became illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns. People began to exit their homes, preparing for a night fueled by light conversation, delectable cuisine, and blood-red wine. The souls littering the streets smelled of humanity's most prized vices and forgotten virtues, manners swapped out like church clothes for vulgarity and risqué ensembles–Cosima repressed the urge to join them, to make love to the night and forget the monster whispering sweet nothings inside her mind.
Cosima released a dejected sigh as she plopped onto a nearby bench. Illuminated by a single lamp-post, she found comfort in her temporary solitude, surrounded by boutiques, cafes, and a deserted park. A cluster of gangly, inebriated teenage boys found themselves intoxicated by Cosima, viewing her as a sexual conquest for their group enjoyment. Fumbling towards her, the oldest specimen sported a burgundy baseball cap and unremarkable, acne-ridden face. The others followed like a horde of zombies, lacking tact or grace.
"What brings you here, to my bench," he questioned brazenly, lifting his arms and motioning towards her seat. American. Cosima couldn't help the small smile that sprang from her lips.
"I'm lost."
"Ooooh… you're American too. I was really aiming for some super sexy foreigner… you'll do though," he responded disappointedly. His sour mood vanished instantaneously when he met Cosima's covetous gaze.
"Do you know where The Baron's Brew is? It should be somewhere near DYAD," spoke Cosima cooly. Her body ached for warmth, a warmth he and his friends could offer her– in the form of crimson froth; oh, how she craved to slurp the juices seeping from their pale and tired veins…
The boy, named Dave, nodded eagerly. Cosima never got accustomed to the powers she possessed while wearing her rings. While most vampires grew to enjoy their newfound abilities, Cosima would've much rather continued her low-key life as an unassuming PhD student. As Cosima picked apart the strands constructing the teen's subconscious, the two engaged in what seemed to be silent conversation; Dave's peers grew restless. The boys shuffled uncomfortably behind their friend as their thoughts began to stumble and trip out of their bigoted brains and into Cosima's head.
'What the fuck, Dave? She's small, you could take her.'
'Those tits though… Jesus Christ.'
'Room's around the corner. Just grab her n' go.'
'Can't wait to yank on those dreadlocks as I pound my dick into her mou-'
'You'd think after the last girl we got, these bird brains would have their shit together.'
The final comment pulled Cosima out of her stupor, abandoning her previous task to locate her contact. She deadpanned, gaze landing on the much older gentleman with a chiseled face and impeccably built frame. It was as if she froze time, walking up to the man, pulling his face level to hers by the collar. The group stilled; Dave continued to peer at the empty space Cosima's body previously inhabited.
'How many before me?' She asked softly; an unspoken inquiry, her words slithering into his mind, digesting memory after memory of the women they had already taken.
Five women. Two girls no older than 16.
The hand clutching the man's shirt grew pale, knuckles painted white. She silently urged herself to relax, to breathe, but her rage only seemed to bubble up inside her the more she tried to contain it.
His blue eyes widened upon registering her domineering proximity. She couldn't help but feel accomplished upon drinking in the fear radiating off the asshole in her clutches. And then– she snapped.
Cosima had vanished and in her place stood a vessel devoid of feeling, hooded by the rage-induced thirst she failed to dismiss in her final cognizant moments. Her drive to feed was primal and the group in front of her was oblivious of the pandora's box they opened.
As her canines leisurely began to expand, her tongue poked out from behind her pink, chapped lips, licking the skin found there.
Cosima brought her lips towards her prey's face with dilated pupils. He reciprocated the gesture, his brain bypassing the subtle difference between lust and hunger. As her lips roughly met the expanse of his sleek, ivory neck, she distantly registered the way his breath hitched in complete, total arousal. Her lips lingered on his skin, kissing her prize. She opened her mouth at an agonizingly slow rate, tongue gliding across his pulse-point, the blood pounding through his veins egging Cosima on– to commit herself to the act– to bite the fiend lacking sympathy for those he unnecessarily took.
Her fangs took matters into their own accord, breaking skin, eliciting a howl. Instead of finding reprieve however, Cosima recoiled in disdain. His blood was undrinkable, seemingly poisoned and meant to combat individuals like herself.
"Fucking, bitch." His eyes met hers in absolute disgust as he shoved her off of him with surprising strength she failed to anticipate. 'Psycho, I'm not into that rough sex in public shit– especially with reggae-looking, power-hungry, hoes.'
"C'mon, Paul… let's get outta here," one of the zombies pled. 'Club Neolution is just around the corner…' the boy added in his thoughts.
Cosima regained control of her anatomy, her vampiric intuition having fled upon being tainted with Paul's unusable substance.
The crew angrily made their way towards their new destination, leaving Cosima alone without a clue as to what had transpired.
Cosima's eyes found themselves glued to her vintage, coal-black Doc Martins as she scuffled the pavement with her feet in disbelief.
An awkward cough announced another's presence. Cosima whipped her head towards the noise, dreads flying in tandem.
A woman no older than Cosima strolled closer with her head casually angled in a sideways glance. Her green eyes raked over Cosima's petite frame, pushing the woman into uncomfortable submission.
"Um, can I help you?" croaked Cosima, internally slapping herself at showing the stranger a hint of vulnerability.
"Non. But I can help you,… Cosima?" Her name flew from the woman's lips in the form of a question.
"How is that?" The dreadlocked woman regained some composure with her next words, losing all traces of nervousness.
"Cosima." The other woman smiled, casually stepping closer the the vampire with reassured comfort. "I can take you to The Baron's Brew."
The woman standing before Cosima finally made sense. From her wavy chestnut locks, brown eyes, and petit form, to her athletic stature and French accent– "Danielle Fournier."
xxxx
"Scott was concerned. As were the others," supplied Danielle, passing Cosima a glass of Parisian wine.
The pair had already made their way to the pub for a short respite, calling Cosima's makeshift family to assure them of her safe arrival. The bartender lovingly recounted the tale of Cosima's almost homicide as if it was a comedic ice-breaker at a children's birthday party. The tale spurned a few chuckles from Sarah and Felix, but produced a storm of castigation from Alison, Beth, and Siobhan. Cosima could feel Scott's disapproval of the entire event through Danielle's mobile device, but she at least appreciated that her friend had enough sense to keep his thoughts private regarding the matter.
After a short time within the proximity of drunkards and boisterous patrons, Danielle escorted Cosima to her new apartment located three blocks away.
When they entered Cosima's new "pad," the girl gracelessly flopped onto her new leather couch adorned with cushions softer than "Aphrodite's breasts."
"So you're a lady lover?" proposed the Frenchwoman questioningly, pursing her lips casually.
Cosima swooshed the red wine inside her mouth as if pondering the meaning of life.
"I enjoy people. I love the feminine form– some would say I… 'worship it…' but I enjoy the company of men, not as often or as enjoyably however."
Danielle contemplated her new friend's response without any sign of discomfort or disgust. The woman sat up smoothly, setting her own glass down on the antique wooden table located beside her.
"Well, it appears we are not so different after all," whispered Danielle lowly as she slank onto Cosima's lap.
Cosima basked in the other woman's touch, not having felt the company of another in a longer time than she cared to admit. The bespectacled woman knew she was attractive, it was simply a matter of finding someone she could fuck without wanting to suck them dry.
Danielle was immortal too, her cold skin feeling lukewarm to Cosima. The idea that 'similar temperatures tend to blend together naturally' formulated in her mind.
Danielle cupped Cosima's cheeks as she met her darkening pupils. She lowered her lips to Cosima's shortly after, leaving a short, yet substantial distance between the two. Their breath mingled between them, exciting the scientist pinned underneath the weight of an equally aroused brunette.
Cosima couldn't handle the lack of contact much longer, her desire for attention overthrowing her wish to tease the Frenchwoman. The American grabbed the woman in front of her, smashing their lips together forcefully. Danielle reciprocated her fervor, nipping at the woman, who tasted of strawberries and copper, beneath her.
Cosima's hips bucked in anticipation, her desire to feel human again becoming unbearable. Her lips found purchase on Danielle's pale neck as she traced the curve of her spine with confidently descending fingertips.
Danielle moaned at the pressure Cosima's lips elicited along the expanse of her skin. Each point of contact between the two felt as if they were on fire, stoked by the ministrations of both yearning women.
Cosima abruptly changed her focus to the button of Danielle's jeans, peeling them off after a few moments of awkward and heated fumbling. Cosima's dress shortly followed, along with her partner's shirt. Upon situating themselves into more appropriate positions, Danielle found herself latched onto Cosima's neck, fangs penetrating Cosima's olive skin in their routine progression of vampiric sexual practices.
Cosima groaned at the contact, relishing the necessary loss of control her situation offered her.
The feast ended before Danielle could truly start however; when the woman found herself drinking in the tainted concoction Cosima had recently submitted herself to, she jerked her body away from the couch and planted her feet firmly on the ground a few feet away from her almost-lover.
"What? What happened," questioned Cosima nervously, her words tripping over one another.
"You taste of him. Whatever it was that he had in his blood is still in you," spat Danielle frustratedly. "He must have connections with DYAD. If he knows anything about vampires, the Cormiers will be after you." The Frenchwoman was pacing around the apartment now, worry painted clearly upon her youthful face.
"He doesn't…" supplied Cosima. She was met with a dubious frown before adding, "I could hear his thoughts. He just thought I was a creepy dominatrix thing with weird hair or some shit."
Danielle nodded absently as her eyes glanced around the room, mapping out the locations of all her discarded garments. She hid her surprise well, not realizing the woman she just met was gifted with powers very few of their kind were privy to.
"I should be going. The bar needs to be closed soon, and I am probably wanted back. Not to mention you start work tomorrow."
Cosima glanced up and across the room at her friend from the couch before waving her hands noncommittally in a 'yeah, okay, that's fine,' gesture.
"There are blood packs in the mini-fridge in your bedroom. It's tucked in the back of your closet, in case you have unexpected guests." Cosima nodded and smiled half-heartedly, emotionally exhausted. "You should have some before work tomorrow… you look–"
"Yeah, got it. Thanks," interrupted Cosima, simply ready for the night to be over and the sting from her rejection to subside.
Danielle grinned genuinely as she fought with her stubbornly tied shoes.
"Bonne nuit, Cosima. Et Bienvenue à Paris." The local winked warmly at the American with a crooked grin before letting herself out.
Cosima sighed and shook her head disbelievingly as soon as the woman's steps faded down the hallway. Padding towards the door, she locked the series of locks it contained and made her way to her bedroom, not even bothering to clothe herself.
xxxx
"What is this," whispered a young woman fashioning short blonde hair, angled to frame her cheekbones. Her right hand tracing the subtle indents embedded in Paul's skin.
"Some girl tried to seduce me."
His gaze remained trained on the wall behind Rachel, opting to avoid her intrusive stare.
"And," she asked, louder now, British lilt making itself known to the world.
"And I refused. Went along my business."
Rachel trailed her fingertips along his jaw, cradling his chin with one hand before releasing him from her hold with a forceful shove.
"Inform the Cormiers of the possible threat," instructed Rachel harshly before adding, "You would think that as our newly promoted chief of security, you would have enough common sense to recognize the undead when in the presence of one. You have a job to do. Your father is dead– there is no one else available for our disposal, do you understand?"
Paul gritted his teeth, scowling at his overseer with disdain. "Yes, Rachel."
The woman flashed him a synthetic smile, eyes glazed with amusement. "It's Ms. Duncan. And it's nothing personal, Mr. Dierden." She drew him towards her until they were chest to chest. Her left palm traveled leisurely down his front, finding purchase on the buckle of his belt.
"It's time for us to come to terms," she hissed into his ear, taking a lobe into her mouth before biting down on the soft flesh.
He groaned with an odd combination of both arousal and contempt. His hatred for her made these moments easy for him, allowing him to distance his mind from his body. Paul was adept in sexual practices, reciprocating Rachel's desire to be violently manipulated.
As she rammed him onto her cold, metallic desk and began to mount him fully clothed, Paul let his mind wander to a time when he enjoyed his job; a time he was in (something resembling) love, a time he was free of burdensome responsibilities, a time his father was alive and he was still wanted by Delphine.