4. Keith À La Carte
The wind blows through the trees, carrying the smell of food.
Most para hate the way humans smell. If they weren't my meal source, I may too find their scent to be unbearable. Instead, I find it mouth-watering. Although to be fair, there are many other living creatures that also sustain my diet. But humans are more like meat and potatoes. They are a staple and provide an adequate amount of nutrients.
Everything a growing vampire needs.
In the dimming light, I spot my target paying his fee at the ticket booth. When you have been alive as long as I have, you learn to adapt your feeding habits to accommodate the locals, so as not to upset the balance of things. When he flashes his motor vehicle identification card, I use my enhanced sight to hone in on his name.
Keith Evans.
He smells like cigarettes and alcohol. He has a fading tan line from his former wedding band, and the toupee he is wearing to cover his half-bald head is a few shades too bright to match his remaining natural hair. His outfit screams that he is stuck in the nineteen nineties, most likely when he was in his prime youth and deceptively attractive.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
As he advances into the carnival, I observe as he leers at a few females, barely managing to let the one walk away before licking his lips and dry-humping the air behind her.
Yes, Keith will do nicely.
As I prowl behind him, I consider leaving him at the cockroach-filled motel down the street after feeding. He will be weak enough to sleep for a few days and judging by his persona, no one would miss him for that time. He continues his predatory behavior, and when he manages to grope the behind of a young girl barely in her teens, I decide that the cockroaches deserve better than Keith.
I close the distance between us and lean against Keith, whispering my influence into his ear. Quite the nifty little trick my species uses to keep our prey docile and the communities oblivious to our actions. Granted, it only works on humans, so I suppose I am lucky that they have been my preferred meal for many decades now.
"Hello, Keith. I hear you like to have fun with the ladies. I have a few lovely women who are eager for your company tonight. Meet me outside the south gate, and I will take you to the party."
Stepping back, I observe my handy work as Keith begins moving in a fugue state. Unaware of his surroundings. Only able to focus on the words I spoke to him. This also means that any females from this point until our rendezvous spot, are now free of any possible groping he would have normally attempted.
Just doing my civic duty. What can I say? I'm a feminist at heart.
However, that too is something that I have not had an interest in enjoying for several decades either.
A woman.
Not as my meal or in my bed.
After Francesca, the thought of allowing myself such things is nauseating.
My far-away thoughts have allowed Keith a substantial lead on me. While I know that the compulsion will prevent him from leaving the location I gave him, he would begin to look odd just standing about alone.
After a single step forward my body goes rigid. My skin pebbles, and my mouth waters. Even my ancient dick stands at attention. Although once my fangs descend of their own volition, my sudden turn-on leads to pure irritation. I am a creature of power and influence. I am not a monster to be controlled.
And yet...
The wind blows again, and the scent nearly drags me to the ground in submission.
I glance around frantically but am unable to find the source. Whoever she is, she is bound to bring me nothing but trouble. Trouble I don't need or want.
Maybe leaving tomorrow evening would be the best idea. It has been some time since I allowed myself to travel. Perhaps this is a sign.
A sign for what, though?
After a few calming breaths and an imaginary vision of Keith chasing me around with his wrinkled STD-infested cock, my own becomes flaccid again.
I'm not sure what that was, or rather who, but I am far from interested in finding out. I have a meal to enjoy and a party to get to.
Stomping my way to Keith, I don't miss the fact that my steps are a bit shaky. Almost as if my body is physically revolting at the idea of leaving behind... whoever that was. But I am not interested in anyone who can call upon that deepest carnal version of myself. I will never give myself to anyone like that again.
Without ceremony, I snatch Keith up by the neck, allowing his legs to dangle a few feet from the ground and rush him into the thicket of the woods. Taking my first bite, and a few deep pulls of his blood, I find myself on steadier legs. I release him and lick the wounds. Instructing him to stop sobbing and remain silent, before I drag us even further into the woods and on the edge of the swampy lake.
My teeth sink into his flesh once more and take deep drags from his body. After mere seconds, I hear his heartbeat slowing to a dull thud. When his heart is close to stopping, I pull away and lick the wound sealed. Even without me drinking his blood, Keith will be dead in minutes. But I refuse to take that last sip. I've made that mistake before and will not purposefully endure the agony of pulling their essence into myself and spitting it out. No, Keith can leave his body all on his own.
Picking up his body by the neck again, I thrust outward and release. Watching with a morbid fascination as he launches into the air and just as quickly drops into the murky shallow water with a splash.
There. Now all that is left to do is put on my party suit and enjoy the festivities of the night.
I have the distinct feeling that tonight will be the perfect send-off.
Maybe we should have gone with a ‘Birthday and Bon Voyage' theme instead of my annual masquerade birthday affair.
Too late to change things now. Besides, it's simply a party. It won't change what comes after.
I hear France is lovely this time of year.