The night was deep in its reign, the moon hiding from the darkness behind thick clouds. It was as if it knew something was coming, something from a nightmare and it was their time to walk the earth.

Less than an hour before the door of a crypt had been opened, from the inside, and someone had walked out into the sea of tombs stones and graves. Silent footsteps crossed soft grass with an eerily calm gait, as if they were at home amongst the dead, the rotting and the skeletal. There were no shoes upon her feet and she was dressed in a white dress, that flowed around her body barely touching her skin. Her clothing, hair and skin were stark contrasts to each other, the white of the garment, the palour of her skin and the thick darkness of her hair. You might have thought her beautiful if you weren’t wondering what the hell she was doing there.

From the graveyard to the park her appearance had changed, she had shoes, thanks to a young woman who gave them more willingly than she had given her life. Faith loved it when they fought back against death, when they clawed and cried and begged. Everyone had to learn that pleas weren’t always answered as you wanted them to be, hers certainly never had. The white dress was now covered in blood and adorned the dead woman’s body in an alley somewhere; Faith was wearing her black jeans and tank top. They fitted her almost perfectly, but the top was a tad small on her frame but she could find another later.

She inhaled deeply, the smell of people on the air. She smiled, “Demaitre,” she said in a low tone into the night. The place even smelled good. She’d arrived in town a day ago and taken refuge in the crypt to wait out the day, sunlight and vampires being great enemies. Yes, she was an immortal undead, a blood sucking fiend and she was proud of it. She’d seen the world and knew her secrets; that people were no better than vampires in her ways, killing each other to survive, for pleasure or for a promise of something they desired. She was just more efficient in her mechanisms.

Her raven hair cascaded down her shoulders and down her back, making her look like the consummate gothic punk that so many seemed so captured by. After the fresh blood her skin had some warmth to its colour, appearing tanned and alive again.

She walked across the park slowly, gauging how many there were out there, humans…dinner…cattle, whatever you wanted to call them. The girl before was just an appetizer, and because she was similar in build to Faith, she needed new clothes the dress wouldn’t work anymore. It was how she had traveled to Demaitre, the dress was a funeral dress of some woman who had been killed in the Yukon but whose family wanted her buried at home in Demaitre. She’d thrown the body out and climbed into the small cushioned space before it was loaded onto an airplane. She smirked, by now they had found the girls corpse lying in the hold where she’d left it and an empty coffin. You had to do what you had to do to escape the light.

Even the darkness she could see them ahead, a man and woman, holding hands and the woman playfully running her finger over his shoulder. She smiled, revealing long point fangs. What did you know a combo meal! She started towards them along the path, her steps slow and ease, stuffing her hands in her pockets as to not alarm them. Her head hung low slightly but she could still see them coming towards her, then she noticed someone else on the path, someone following the couple. She growled internally. This wasn’t a meal to share.

Vincent had spent the evening at the lab, cleaning up after an accident, that had it been noticed, would draw attention to the fact that he was not helping anyone’s projects in genetic testing. He accidentally poured some of his blood ‘samples’ into the project he was asked to review, and had to scrap the whole thing before anyone noticed that the rat blood was no longer normal in any way. Sometimes, he mused, being a vampire could be very helpful, and sometimes, it created a mess. Once he finished, Vincent quietly slipped out for the night. Let the others worry about where the stupid rat project went. It was one of those nights, and he felt like following someone—there was plenty of time to get the results those foolish students of Science were looking for, and he wasn’t hungry.
Though not one to call his hobby ‘stalking’, Vincent understood on some level that it was an unhealthy preoccupation in an age like this. Still, it was on nights like this that Hugo dragged him outside to feed, laughing, telling his charge that food never just wandered into one’s home. Thinking of the one who gave him his life, Vincent now followed a pair of humans, partly out of habit, partly to watch them—perhaps, an opportunity to see something new would present itself. Adventure still nagged at Vincent’s mind, and the smells and sights of the city still drew him away from his home with the hope that maybe, he missed something after all. Looking at the two humans proved it beyond doubt.
The man and woman were not unusual, Vincent knew, but he had never considered how much has changed since his days. In his time, there was love, and now before him was love as well, but it was more open. In fact, an ancient part of Vincent felt disgust at the way the girl touched her gentleman. To do so in London or even in America during Vincent’s age was unthinkable, but all the same, most of Westley felt differently, and thus he followed out of their sight, looking at the way the two acted, fighting the urge to hear what they were talking of. He still wanted to give them some privacy, because they were no doubt discussing something important. Perhaps, even marriage. He couldn’t interfere with that. To do so would be against the rules of this game. Better to spy on them quietly, watching how their lives unfolded. Westley smiled, thinking of what Hugo would say on seeing his friend at such a hobby. No doubt something about useless wandering about in the middle of the night.
Then, something caught Vincent’s attention. A woman was also there, a quiet presence slipping towards them. There was a strange smell about her, or was it just the way she looked? To Westley’s trained eyes, she seemed as a dark beauty, one of the creatures of his kind, even if he was not sure, since her skin was normal, and her body seemed natural, human in every way. Vincent couldn’t help but admire her out of the corner of his eye. She moved with a certain precision he could never master, and acted very casually. There was some regret in Vincent’s heart, still—the two lovers would die, he was certain, since this one did not seem like the sort to ask permission, or treat them as people. At least, Vincent thought, he could watch that, if she permitted it. He was not about to fight with a vampire of unknown origin, and as it is, he preferred to live in peace with all of the predators. Hugo, after all, was not always kind towards mankind, and the lovers, as sad as their fate would be, were not friends of Vincent’s. Useless heroism was even worse than useless wandering, and could get one killed very uselessly indeed. With that thought, he moved away from the advancing lady of the night, and allowed himself a slight pause, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

She could smell the scent of death on him, death and age, but not nearly as old as she was. Were they after the same meal? If so, then who was walking about empty handed? Faith, as she now went by, wasn’t a woman to give up her prize once she had set her sights on it, and she was very thirsty now and no one was going to get in her way.

The gap between her and her prey closed, as well as that between her and the unknown stranger. She didn’t care who he was, she just wanted him out of the way. Then, to her great pleasure, he moved away conceding the meal to her. She looked at him with grey eyes and then focused herself on the task at hand.

“Good night,” she said as she walked passed her prey casually. As she passed them her eyes turned into a deep blood red as her fangs grew longer as did her nails. She turned around, right behind them, faster than a human could move. “Excuse me. I have a question,” she asked coyly. The couple turned, surprised by her address, but surprise soon turned to horror at her appearance. “Who wants to die first?” she said, showing them a fangy grin.

“What is this?” the man asked boldly, trying to hide his shaking partner behind him. “A joke?” Faith stepped forward, her skin pale once again and her eyes fixed on his neck. She could almost see the blood pulsing through his veins, she could hear it and the sound of his heart quickening in fear. Oh the sweet music to her hears. “No…” she said softly before lunging at him knocking both man and woman to the ground.

She sprang back to her feet effortlessly and drove a swift kick into the man’s stomach, before reaching down and grabbing them both by the colour. “Hush…or I’ll snap your neck,” she whispered harshly to the whimpering woman as she begged and pleaded and screamed. Faith loved to hear that, the sound of futility. She dragged the pair, kicking and fighting as they may, into the dark away from prying eyes that may happen by.

With a growl she kicked the man again before straddling his body while holding the woman in place by her throat. “Scream for me,” she teased as she buried her fangs into his throat puncturing the artery and spilling his blood into her mouth like a fountain. She supped on his life fluid hungrily, watching his twitching body slow to nothing before she stopped. She raised her head, a dribble of his blood running down her cheek, she liked at it hungrily before looking at her dessert. The woman was still, her heart still beat but fear had taken hold and caused her to pass out. Not good, it wasn’t as fun if they didn’t know it was coming.

“Wake up!” Faith said with a hard slap to the woman’s face. Her eyes fluttered open and she gave a blood curdling scream before Faith silenced her by crushing her windpipe and sinking her fangs into her soft neck. Thump, thump…thump, thump…thump….thump the woman’s heart began to slow and Faith released her hold before it slowed to a stop.

A glimmer of steel swept through the air as Faith pulled out her switchblade and went to work slicing through both of their throats to hide her fang marks. She then propped them beside each other against a tree and walked away, wiping the blood clean from her mouth. As she walked her eyes caught the stranger again and she crossed the lawn to him as only an immortal could. “Smart,” she told him calmly before walking away at a normal human rate, her appearance once again like the living.

Vincent was surprised. Watching her approach to hunting was horrible, and Vincent’s Enashe idealism almost got the better of him when his fellow vampire made a show of killing the lovers. Certainly, he knew that his kind sometimes killed without pity, and he himself did that on occasion, but the woman before him was efficient, yet played with her prey. Vincent’s disgust, however, turned to a sort of pleasure. She was brutal, and Vincent would have never allowed himself to kill slowly, if at all, or to terrify his meals. He found greater pleasure in seduction and friendship of those whom he considered his food. However, she was no less intelligent for her cruelty, and he was interested in her methods. It was not every night that an Enashe professor could meet a lady as unusual as this one.
She was unusual indeed, he could tell without effort. Like Hugo, she was an ancient vampire, and her strength and recklessness with her prey hinted at much more powerful hidden talents. Her enjoyment of torture hinted at an Ishak upbringing, but her hiding the fang-marks and ability to seem human were rational, not to mention uncharacteristic of the proud killers and demons of the dark, who have been getting less and less civilized with every year. This one was an excellent hunter, whatever her faults, decided Vincent, and there was a chance she could be turned to less violent ways of surviving. Certainly, there was some adventure to be had, and though he knew no other Enashe would willingly associate with such a creature, Westley felt this woman had a reason to act as she did. Perhaps, she could, if she tried, act as a less terrible force. After all, Hugo was a savage, yet he acted kindly at times. About as kindly as a killer of thousands might act, but still, he had some mercy and love for people. They were his brothers and sisters once, after all…
As she walked away from the scene, throwing a casual comment of his giving the lovers to her as if he was a coward, Vincent’s thoughts scattered to be replaced by a wild thought of seeing if she could be turned to live as he did. He moved quickly, within less than a second standing several feet away from her, his appearance slightly more feral now, if no less ridiculous for the tie decorated with cartoon characters now visible under his coat. Then, he straightened, put away the tie, and smoothed the coat, every bit an English gentleman he had been when he was human.
“I did not give them to you out of fear, or caution. They were their own. I was merely following them out of curiosity. Now, my curiosity is turned to you.” Westley thought better of fighting out of anger, but all the same, some reckless impulse made him want to see if perhaps even a demon could be tamed with some kindness, and he was not about to quit, simply out of the principle of the thing. If anything, he hoped, he could run away, or die after a good life if this failed. “What is your name, and who are you?” Vincent smiled, extending his right hand, trying to seem as friendly as he could manage while being on-guard for any tricks this lady might throw at him.

She had taken an opportunity, but not as one might think. Her words to this vampire were not intended to show how bold she was, actually was to hide her reservation and fear. Faith didn’t like other vampires; she didn’t trust the people who were her kind. Long ago she had learned that life would crush you under its feet if it could, and she would not go back to those times. She had hoped in her words, and the fact that he had conceded the meal to her, would prove him wary of a vampire much older than himself and he would leave her be. Yes, even vampires could be afraid.

She was satisfied with her meal, her next course of action, as she strolled away from the stranger was to find a hotel with the money she’d collected during the night’s events and lay low till she needed to feed again. Her life was always solitude and seclusion, it was her choice, and how she had survived this long. She had watched the world change over the centuries, wide expanses of empty land no longer existed as it once did, humans were everywhere and where they were so were the undead to feed upon them. She enjoyed the ages past with it’s simplicity, there were no televisions, no radios, no way of spreading the word about strange deaths or eager detectives willing to follow a lead. She liked when deaths brought fear into the hearts of men, when they locked their doors against the night and prayed for peaceful rest till morning. Those days had been good.

Her thoughts broke into pure wariness as the vampire closed the gap on her. She could not show fear, there were some amongst her kind who would kill another for no greater reason than being it made things interesting on a quiet night. Was this man the same? His look was comedic to her, Faith never being a fan of cartoons with their inane plots and the fact that the coyote never did get to eat the roadrunner. Her eyes flashed from grey to red instantly, her defensives up as she watched him for the slightest hint of an attack. She had trusted but one man in her life and he had succumbed to the sword and the sun centuries ago. No other could be trusted, no other was deserving.

She wasn’t fooled by his appearance, his tact to be part of the mortal world, she knew better. Cut off a snakes head and it can still bite no matter how docile and unthreatening it might seem. She gave a low menacing growl as he spoke. She didn’t answer his question but studied him closely. “Be gone,” she said coldly to his questions. What did he want with her name? She had many should could give if it would please him, but what was the point she had no intention to stand there discussing events of the current times. She showed him fangs and then as fast as he had approached, her hand lashed out towards his face, it wasn’t intended to actually get him, but more as a warning to stay away fro her. The last thing she wanted was a fight, but she was ready for it if it came. She hadn’t lived this long and not learnt how to defend herself.

Most vampires would think that now was a good time to run or fight, but strange as Vincent was, he could not allow himself to run away when talking with a lady. Had he not discussed politics with more fearsome people? He was Vincent Westley, and even if it meant he was a freak of a vampire that dared to stand before a deadlier kin of his, he would stand by his decisions. It was then that an unusually morbid thought hit him. Could it be that looking too human and acting strangely was a non-survival trait among vampires, which is why he was the only one who looked so ‘mundanely crazy’ among the undead?
Westley’s eyes followed the lady’s hand closely, and though he knew he would never be able to dodge the blow, all he did was close his eyes. He had had worse, he thought as he fell back slightly—this one was not as strong as Hugo, and certainly not as clever. Now, if her nails were poisoned, or if she used them with the true intention to harm, and not out of anger and fear…was it fear? Better to not think of that, decided Vincent, and turned around, starting on his way home, but not before letting the lady know what it is she had done. If he was not going to hurt her physically, he would hurt her by showing her what barbarous act she had just committed. Long speeches were never his to say, but he managed to quickly stammer through something he once called with sarcasm The Apology of Fools:
“I hope you will not…strike me when my back is turned. I did not mean to…anger you, and meant for this to be a pleasant introduction, not a conflict. I have once known an older vampire who was much like you, and we have been friends…I hoped that you, while not as merciful to your prey as myself, would act with some kindness to a youngster like me. I am truly sorry this is not the case, and I hope that you bear no ill will against me if I leave…I am afraid of you, actually, and while no coward, do not want to fight with someone such as yourself. I merely put my bets on that someone raised in slavery would act with less hatred towards her kind, and lost. Forgive me.” That last comment, he decided, was enough. Vincent could not read minds, but he had at one point studied how fortune telling works, and decided to use a generalization. Hugo had mentioned the status of women in his original culture once, and Vincent remembered the outrage he felt well enough to have placed that lesson well into his mind—until a certain age, gender, creed, and race were all cause for slavery. Perhaps, this one would feel less inclined to violence if reminded of a possibly terrible past life as something seen as below human, not above.

She hit him. She hit him. Why didn’t he move? He should have been able to dodge her hand; she never imagined that she was going to actually come into contact with him. She stopped herself from reacting, though shock was all that was in her mind.

She stood her ground, not moving just waiting for him to retaliate. He had to retaliate; it came like nature to a vampire. When attacked, when provoked vampires attacked. It was second nature, or was that just her? It was normal for her, when attacked she became defensive, she attacked. It was what she knew to do. Before, when she was alive, she couldn’t fight back, she was weak and they did what they wanted. She wasn’t weak anymore.

Stunned; that was the word. What was going on? Her face changed into visible confusion at his words. He hadn’t attacked her. He was trying to make her feel badly for what she’d done? “A friend?” she said coldly. “You have a friend? Then you are a fool,” she added. “I need no one, least of all a friend, especially one like you.” Her blood boiled at the mention of slavery. “What do you know of slavery?” she growled menacingly as he turned his back.

She saw red, if he had meant to remind her of a time of being less than a person, he had succeeded. He proved to only evoke more of her hatred and wrath. She growled as she ran at him, her fist searching out his lower back in anger. “Insolent pup!” she continued at the top of her lungs, her fangs bared and her eyes red with anger, with hate and with pain.

Slavery, he had the audacity to speak about that to her. He knew nothing of her, of what she had suffered under the brutality of men. She would teach him a lesson, she would see to that. Faith melted away in her head, as the memories of a frightened and battered Tahirah came to the foreground. She could smell breaths laced with alcohol, grubby roaming hands on her body and the sensation of not being able to breath under the weight. She wanted to rip something apart, and there was only one person around.

Vincent was no fool, and was afraid, but he was a vampire. A part of him was screaming ‘run’, but he no longer listened. He tried being reasonable, and failing that, would take what came to him. He allowed his inner beast, the creature that was under the mask of his kind nature, to surface even as he turned around.
True, he was a gentleman, but the creature before her now looked nothing like the one who tried to befriend her. This one was more akin to the wolf and the madman than to an independently wealthy absent-minded ‘Mycroft’. He growled as he caught and turned her fist, not breaking the hand, but twisting it forward with her own attack, trying to throw her off-balance.
“You want to fight as a disease, a plague-ridden monster? Then fight!” Vincent roared, his fangs and claws showing. He was no longer retreating, and now that he was no longer hunched over, looking like a human, he advanced, swiping at her as casually as a cat would with a mouse, trying to seem threatening. He did not use his full force in an attack, giving her a chance to jump out of the way. “You attack the one who offers you kindness! You are worse than the ‘insolent pup’ you brand me with! You want to know what I know of slavery? I helped those who escaped it! Have you, monster?”
While it did take him many years, he learned to see others as his equals, if only in the most basic of senses—in the sense of law and desire. All of the intelligent creatures of Earth must obey laws, and all wish to succeed in some way. Once Vincent understood it, he aided the escaped slaves of the American South, if only by making their way easier. Of course, in return, he took blood, but it was a fair exchange, and one that gave him some respect for mankind's ability to survive.
Then, he paused momentarily, looking at this lady, this creature, whom he thought honorable moments ago. All his kindness was gone the moment that she said she did not need anyone, but something of the human in him was still outraged. How dare she? Did she have no mercy, no love inside her? Was she as cold as Hugo, but also heartless? “Will you kill me, a fool who wishes to be a friend to you?” some of his kindness slipped into the question, but Vincent was ready to attack, die, and take her with him if she tried anything more. It was hard enough for Vincent to keep her one attack from killing him, and he was sure that once she realizes that, she would not be as hesitant as when she hit him first.

He grabbed her fist, trying to throw her off balance, but she followed through it using it to her advantage and rolling across the grass out of his reach. His words, if meant to make her feel badly for her actions, failed. “With pleasure,” she hissed back at his comment. A plague-ridden monster? What a comparison, for it applied to both of them. They were both monsters, from appearance and actions. Like any monster they needed to feed, to kill to survive. She was sure he had ripped the veins of many a mortal to survive, was that not the actions of a monster and not a rational being? They stopped being rational, they stopped being able to with stand their strongest desire the minute they drank of a vampire and became one. The thirst made them all monsters and she had accepted that a long time ago, his words meant nothing to her.

“I did not ask for your kindness, or your pity. I wanted nothing off you, but to be left alone,” she growled at him. He swiped at her and she avoided him, ducking past his clawed hands before grabbing one by the wrist. “You think helping slaves makes you understand them?” she growled with anger before pulling him close enough to drive her knee hard into his stomach and shoving him away with equal force. “You understand nothing!” She lived as a slave, was she to think him benevolent for helping others who had been like herself? No! She laughed coldly. “Does the pup think himself some kind of benefactor? Poor foolish pup, was I supposed to thank you for them?”

She looked at him with pained angry eyes. “I would think nothing of it,” she retorted to his question. Kindness or no kindness, the frightened Tahirah was in her element, and she wanted to exact revenge on anyone and everyone for the pain she had suffered, even if it was this man who had done her nothing but provoke her with kindness. She didn’t understand that, kindness without reason, without wanting something in return and she didn’t trust it. it only made her more wary.

She circled him like a wounded animal. “Should I teach the pup what it feels like to be a slave? To be seen as less than the dirt you walk on? To be broken, bruised and battered and left to mend if it be the will of the God? Should I teach you what true pain is?” she asked coldly, menacingly. Her heart was pained; she still harboured the anger of the child, teenager and woman who had suffered under a cruel master. Would hurting this vampire heal her pain? That was unlikely, but it did make Tahirah feel better for a short while.

Vincent allowed himself a small whimper when his new target kicked him. It was painful, but he would endure. Besides, if anything, he could try to rip her apart and die himself, ending any pain he may have felt. She did not care for any human being, and she did not care for any vampire. How could she have survived so long? But, still, despite the pain and hatred, he still felt something was wrong—he could not attack her to end this. This lady was not as evil as she seemed. Her anger was not rational. She was lashing out at him, as if he was somehow responsible for whatever hurt he uncovered with his careless jabbing. He couldn’t win like this. The game was up. Still, he would try peacefully once more. Vincent couldn’t bear the thought of dying as a monster, ripping into another. Better not fight at all than to die like this, uselessly.
“Do what you want with me. I suppose I deserve it. But, tell me…How does it feel to be like them? You are the cruel master now. Are you satisfied that you give me pain, that you can kill me now? It is a fair trade, isn’t it? I come to you with an offer of friendship, which was my past, and you answer me with hatred that you felt in yours…” Vincent looked at her, and his eyes caught a glimpse of hurt in her, but he only smiled. He was not going to die uselessly, perhaps. Maybe, after a while, she would wake up from this nightmare, and feel the need to find someone to befriend her. “Why do you act like this? I am sorry for whatever I did, but I cannot see what it is. I do not understand why you hate me so... I would have asked no more of you than what is needed for us to know each other as good people, but now we are enemies. I am sorry for that, as well. I wished for us to be allies.”
Westley never knew real pain. To him, the feeling of helplessness and fear were alien. But, just watching her reaction to him, he was reminded of every horrible thing he saw done by mankind. He did not notice his own shaking, but he could see her fear and anger clearly. He tried to reach out, to know those things, but he could not. He had no strength to do it. Still, he dropped his defenses, and did not turn with her circling him. He would show her he was still human enough to feel. He was no monster. Let some obscure Enashe upstart avenge him, if she killed him.

She continued circling him, waiting for his next move, waiting to continue what they’d started. His reaction was unexpected…kind, soft words. Things she didn’t understand. “Stop it!” she bit back. “How does it feel?” she repeated his question. “It feels wonderful,” she lied. “It feels wonderful to be in control, to be Lord and Master over another instead of underfoot. I will never be that again. I would die before I was that again.” Her eyes still burned red, the desire to shed this upstart’s blood raging in veins.

“I would kill you for being foolish, for thinking the world is so kind that you can make friends with anyone.” He was a fool for thinking so; at least that was what she had learnt from her own experience. To give over control to another or to have it taken from you was the most frightening thing in the world, she aught to know. Yes, her hatred might have made her as cruel as those who had harmed her, but she could be no other way. The hate would not die and she couldn’t forget. She would never forget.

“That is none of your business!” she spat back at him, as he questioned the reasons for her behaviour. “You spoke flippantly about what you did not know.” She listened with her heart sealed in stone to his words. “Good people?” she laughed. “Since when did we become people, or do you forget what you are?” she asked in a snippy manner. “Should I remind you?” He continued talking as if he needed a friend, as if it was his one wish in life to have another befriend him. It was unnatural to her, this desire he was expressing. It unsettled her. “Stop saying that! We are not allies, we will not be friends. I want no one. I need no one, and you would do well to learn that. We were born alone and we will die alone. That is how it is. Why do need others so much? Do you lack the capability to survive on your own? What is wrong with you?”

She stopped directly in front of him. He was shaking, she could see it clearly and she smiled. Was he afraid? Staring at him her mind wandered, he looked like someone from her past someone long gone.

Atira, he was a young boy who was taken just as she had been, when he was young. She was a child too, only four years older than him and she took care of him. She remembered the day he died clearly. He stood shaking as the vampire before her was doing now. He was only nine. She couldn’t remember what he did; she didn’t think she ever knew. She just remembered him shaking and crying and calling her name before the knife came down and he screamed, or was it she who had screamed? No, it had been her, Atira was too afraid to.

“Leave,” she said in eerie calm. “Go!” she yelled afterwards looking at him with grey eyes. She would not move till he left, till she was sure he was gone.