Verity snickered at the pile of ash collecting in front of her. Another Vampire that had thought she was an easy target had just seen his last moon. She was being watched. She could feel it. It was unsettling, but she knew the observer bore her no ill will…yet.
She looked over towards the young man lying limp against the opposite wall. She walked over to his body and knelt down beside him, checking his pulse. Dead. The two puncture marks on his neck and his pale and slightly drawn features told her he'd been drained and would most likely turn; and without a master…leader…tutor…whatever the makers of the vampire world were called, he could cause a lot of damage very quickly and draw too much attention to this mythological world that few people were privy to.
Verity sighed and shook her head, pulling a bottle of brandy and a lighter from her pocket. She doused the corpse with brandy and set it alight. She would not let an innocent be condemned to a life without light.
For the second time that night she looked up at the moon and prayed for his soul, reciting the last rights. Then, with a cautious glace over her shoulder, she walked to a flashy motorcycle and sped off into the dark and the fog, ever aware of the eyes that followed her out of sight.
Jerry watched Verity work quickly and efficiently at disposing of the dead man's body, and inadvertently protecting the vampire world at the same time, reciting in Latin his last rights as well as a prayer for his soul and a spell to protect it from all other evils. She certainly knew her practices well.
With a heavy heart, he watched her ride off into the night and away from his desperate eyes. He sighed and was about to go when a familiar scent caught his attention and he snarled viciously.
"Well, well, well. What have we here? Still love sick Dandridge?" Cromwell's sickening voice slithered through the fog along with its owner; a sadistic smile etched across his face. "She's really something in this life, isn't she. Beautiful, yet deadly. And, oh-so-sexy in those skinny blue jeans and that tight leather jacket…and the way she mounted that bike…mmmm… I could feel it as though that was me."
"You will stay away from her!" Jerry snarled again, his fingers becoming claws and his teeth sharpening, ready for a fight.
"Well, now, you can't really keep me from her." Cromwell leant casually against the opposite wall, twirling a cane threateningly. "And I have no intention of staying away from her." He sneered wickedly. "This time, I will have her. She will be mine. And even if she is not, I will bed her. By force if need be, and you cannot do a thing about it until she chooses one of us."
"You will-"
"No, you will listen to me!" Cromwell appeared in front of Jerry instantly, hand wrapped around his throat painfully. "There comes a time when you must learn your place…and, right now, it's behind me." Cromwell spat and shoved Jerry away forcefully.
"She may yet choose me again." Jerry glared.
"And she may also choose me still… Think on that." Cromwell smiled evilly as he turned and began walking away. "Goodnight!"
Jerry snarled at his cordial farewell and, for the second time that night, watched someone he knew very well walk off into the fog and the dark of the night.