short-story

Flicker

A Hero/Villain Piece

For those of you who’ve read others, this piece can be considered a loose prelude to Grey

The Villain reached down and lifted the Sidekick’s head, fingers pressed to the underside of their chin.

“You,” the Villain tsked, “Have a hopelessly misplaced sense of trust, my dear.” 

The Sidekick glowered, their lips trembling in rage and pain. 

“They’ll come,” they rasped. “The Hero always comes.” 

The Villain laughed, a dark sensual thing that wrapped its fingers around the Sidekick’s throat, its intent choking them with fear. They struggled to look away from the Villain’s gaze. 

“My sweet, sweetly naive Sidekick.” They ran their finger down the Sidekick’s jaw to their neck. They squeezed, and the Sidekick had a weird sense of de ja vu. 

“The Hero isn’t coming for you.” They leaned in, lips brushing the Sidekick’s ear. The Sidekick whimpered, and the Villain smiled. “The Hero isn’t coming, and neither is anyone else. You.” They squeezed harder; the Sidekick’s eyes bulged. “Are.” They pressed a kiss to their jaw. “Mine.”

When the Villain leaned back, a flicker of doubt shone in the Sidekick’s eyes. 

They wouldn’t, they thought, too weak to break free from the Villain’s grasp, weak as it was. They wouldn’t leave me, would they? 

As the Villain straightened, that damned smirk still curling their lips, the Sidekick realized they didn’t know the Hero at all. 

Shouldn’t I know that? They wondered, desperation clawing at their throat as the Villain turned and grinned as they shut and locked the door, leaving the Sidekick to their thoughts. The Villain’s laughter echoed around them. Taunting them.

A tear rolled down Sidekick’s cheek as more questions and doubts began to crowd their mind. 

Maybe the Villain is right.

A lump welled in their throat.

Why would they come for me?

More tears fell, and the Sidekick was glad the Villain wasn’t around to see, to mock their fear and faith.

Faith that began to waver the longer they sat there, alone in the cold dark of the cell. 

Why would they care about me? The Sidekick thought, curling in on themselves around their bound wrists.

I’m just a Sidekick. 

Domestic

A Hero/Villain piece.

The Villain woke with a start and a gasp. They tried sitting up, but gave up as their entire body creaked and ached in protest. Groaning they closed their eyes against the glare from the window across from them. They relaxed back, and were surprised to realize they were… in a bed? 

Upon further inspection, dragging their hands over the fabric beneath them, they realized the sheets were soft, clean. Not as high a thread count as their own, but comfortable and cozy. 

They were also naked, under the blankets. 

Wondering what the hell had happened or who they had fucked to get here, they tried sitting up again. 

Their ribs creaked, and every muscle in their upper body barked in dull agony, but slowly they managed to sit up, the sheets and blankets piling around their hips. 

They were in a modest room: queen size bed with too many blankets, a dresser, and a small bookshelf. There was a closet as well but the door was closed, preventing the Villain from identifying who’s bed they were in. There was also some art on the wall above the dresser, but it was too dim for them to make any details out beyond ‘squiggly plant shape.’ 

Clanking came from the half-open door to their left. 

Intrigued, the Villain geared themself, took a deep breath, and stood. They swayed on weak legs for a moment or two before finding the strength to stand unaided.

There was no sign of their clothes, no sign of their beloved coat. 

Someone’s going to pay, they thought, grinding their teeth. 

Heedless of their nakedness they opened the door, padding across cheap carpet into a narrow hall. A few more pieces of original art hung from the walls – more plants, and what looked suspiciously like a nude done in charcoal – which opened onto a cozy, lived-in sitting room. Books littered the desk in the corner, and more blankets were piled on the overstuffed loveseat in the middle of the room that faced a southern window. 

Another clank sounded from the right, and the Villain turned just as the Hero stepped around the corner from the galley kitchen. 

“Oh. You’re up.” If they were shocked or embarrassed by the Villains nudity, their face didn’t show it. Someone had bathed the Villain, that was clear from the unfamiliar scent in their hair. “I made you some tea.” 

The Villain stared, bewildered by the simple statement.

“Made me tea?’ They looked at the Hero, then around the apartment, realization dawning on them. They were in the Hero’s home. 

They turned to peer at the Hero, who still stood halfway behind the kitchen wall. Never looking away, the Villain strode to the couch, folding their legs under them as they settled in the corner, the image of polite interest.

“What happened?” They asked bluntly. They pulled a blanket around their shoulders. Not because they cared what the Hero thought. Of course not. They were just cold. 

“I found you dying in a ditch.” The Hero deadpanned. 

The Villain snorted. 

“No. Seriously. What happened?”

“That did.” 

When the Hero didn’t elaborate the Villain sat up a little straighter. 

“Wait. You’re serious, aren’t you…”

“Would I lie to you?”

The Villain squinted, searching for a trap. 

“That depends on the situation.”

The Hero shrugged. 

“Sure. But not in this situation. Whoever attacked you was long gone by the time I got to you.” 

“Why didn’t you take me to a hospital?”

That summoned a weak grin from the Hero. Leave it to the Villain to turn a simple act of kindness into an interrogation. 

“And waste all that time and expose you as human to the masses while you were unconscious? That hardly seems fair.” 

The Villain ceded the point with an elegantly indifferent lift of an exposed shoulder. 

“Fair enough. But why here?” 

“Where else could I have gone?”

That gave the Villain pause. The location of their lair was a well kept secret. Even their minions didn’t know the location, all but their most trusted agents arriving blindfolded and hooded. That left their bunker, which apparently would have been too… gauche, and a hospital. Which meant…

“Why save me at all?” They demanded, suspicious and peeved that the Hero had been right about something. 

The Hero paused, deeply considering the question. 

“It didn’t seem fair.” 

“Life is hardly fair. You know that. I’ve taught you well enough.” 

“True. But… I don’t know.” The Hero shrugged, and folded their arms over their chest. “Seemed the thing to do.” 

The Villain scoffed. Typical Hero mentality. 

“Mm. If you insist. I’ll have that tea now, if you don’t mind.” 

Shaking their head but smirking, the Hero pushed off the wall and rounded the corner. They returned a minute later with a steaming vat of milky tea. 

“Cream and three sugars, as you like it.” They handed the massive mug to the Villain. 

“Why are you being so damn nice to me?” The Villain said, taking the mug. It warmed fingers they hadn’t realized were cold.  

The Hero was about to answer but the Villain cut them off. “And don’t go on about it being the right thing to do. God knows I’ve done enough horrible things to you and your Sidekick that it would have been poetic justice for you to let me die wherever the hell you found me. There’s another reason and you and I both know you know it.” They cringed inwardly at the shoddy logic, but stared hard at the Hero, waiting for an answer. 

A long moment passed before the Hero finally replied. 

“I.. seeing you there, unmoving…” they paused. “It scared me, what I felt.” 

“And what was that?” The Villain’s lip curled in a half-sneer.

“Desperation? A regret that this…” the Hero waved their hand, encompassing them both. “Our game could be over so soon, so quickly. And without my knowing how or why.” 

Both fell silent at the implications. 

Try as they might, the Villain couldn’t for the life or death of them remember what had happened the night before. Surly they hadn’t been careless enough to allow themselves to be drugged. But if not that, then…

“I took your coat to the dry cleaners,” the Hero said into the quiet, shaking their head slightly. “It should be ready this afternoon. And your clothes are just about done in the dryer. Had to wash them a few times to get the blood and dirt out. I doubt your pants will ever be the same again.” 

The Villain barked a laugh, though their thoughts remained fixed on bloody, painful revenge. 

“Well. I suppose the effort must count for something, even if you completely ruined them.” 

The Hero smiled ruefully. 

“In the mean time, you can wear anything you find in the closet. Though I doubt it’s up to your standards.” 

The Villain nodded wisely. It was undoubtedly a blow to their ego, just thinking about wearing fast fashion. But they were curious to see what sort of things the Hero wore on the daily. 

“Aren’t you worried I’ll try something?” Their expression was wry, a challenge gleaming in their eyes. 

The Hero looked at them, expression unreadable. Unfazed. 

“It wouldn’t surprise me, no. But I don’t think you will.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

The Hero spread their hands, eyebrows comically raised. 

“You’ve never struck me as the type to over exert yourself.” 

The Villain scowled. Damn the Hero for being so damn perceptive. But, never one to say no to a little pampering, the Villain settled back in the seat as the Hero disappeared around the corner again. 

“I’ll make you breakfast, though I don’t have much.”

A chorus of banging and clanking followed, and the Villain was struck by how ridiculous this situation was. 

Them, sitting naked in a blanket, in the Hero’s living room, while the Hero made them breakfast.

Was this normal peasant behavior?

They took a sip of their tea, surprised to find it was exactly as they liked it. 

Just as the Hero had claimed it to be.

The Villain glared out the window, even as they took another sip, savoring the way the tea warmed them from the inside out. 

This was all together too weird. The Villain couldn’t quite believe they were having such a… domestic moment, and with their nemesis, of all people. 

The sound of a fridge door opening and closing drew their attention back to the little haven they were in. 

“Toast and eggs?”

When the Villain realized the Hero was waiting for an answer, they spoke. 

“That is acceptable.”

“How do you take ‘em?”

It took the Villain a moment to realize what they were asking. 

“O- Oh. Scrambled whites, feta, onions, and mushrooms if you have them.”

“I’m not the Ritz, you know.”

The Villain sighed dramatically, sinking deeper into the couch. 

“Fiiiiiine. However you deem fit, oh wise kitchen god.”

A snicker met the statement, but the Hero didn’t say anything else as they set about making breakfast. 

Succession

A Hero/Villain piece

TW for violence

Sounds of fighting reverberated around the abandoned construction sight. Shouts, grunts, and fists hitting flesh mingled with the overall soundtrack of the night-shrouded city. 

And yet no one knew of the fight besides a few sleepy pigeons in the scaffolding, unbothered by the violence unfolding beneath them.

A crack echoed, followed by a scream, and the Villain sagged in the Hero’s grip. With a grunt of effort and disgust the Hero flung the Villain away. 

The Villain grunted and cried out again, rolling twice before stopping, their cane feet out of reach. They struggled to their knees, only to be shoved back down as the Hero’s kicked them in the chest.

“Please…” the Villain rasped, blood trickling from their lips. “That the worst you can do?” Movement caught their eye, and they saw the Sidekick emerge from the room where they’d kept them for the past two days. 

Catching their look, the Hero looked around. Renewed rage filled their eyes to see the Sidekick stagger into the light, battered and scraped. 

The Sidekick, ropes still hanging from their wrists, watched in horror as the Hero grabbed the Villain by the collar and began punching them in the face repeatedly. 

“STOP! The Sidekick cried. They ran forward, and grabbed the Hero’s bloody fist, stopping another blow. 

“This isn’t the way!”  They cried. The Villain’s head lolled, blood pouring from a broken nose. Their shoulder was dislocated, hanging awkwardly at their side. 

“It’s not your way, maybe.” The Hero growled, eyes flashing.

“Wha…?” 

With jerky movements, the Hero stood, shoving the Villain down where they lay slowly moving in pain, their breaths whining through a bruised throat. 

Steely resolve shone in the Hero’s eyes as they reached into an inner pocket. 

“What are you…” The Sidekick began. Their eyes widened as the Hero drew a gun, leveling it at the Villain. 

The Villain wheezed on a laugh, blood burbling on their lips. 

“You can’t do it… we’ve been…”

An ear-shattering bang sounded, echoing around the concrete and metal structure, finally startling the pigeons into panicked flight.

The Sidekick screamed, and the Villain slumped back, dead. 

“WHAT THE HELL?!” The Sidekick cried, half hysteric. 

“I did what had to be done.” The Hero’s voice was devoid of emotion. “They’d have killed you. I killed them first.”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER!” The Sidekick was shaking. “You’re the Hero!”

The Hero looked at the Sidekick, expression sympathetic. 

“Exactly. I’m the Hero. The press will believe me when I say I acted in your defense.

“But…” the Sidekick swallowed a sob. “But that isn’t… that’s not how these things are… should be done! You taught me that.”

The Hero hummed, tapping the warm barrel of the gun to their lips. A smudge of gun powder remained behind. 

“Be that as it may, can’t things be different?”

The Sidekick looked at the Hero, confused despite the horror of what they’d seen. 

“What?”

“Cant things be different. Together we can change things. You and me. We can make it so there won’t ever be the need for Heroes again.”

“This isn’t you.” The Sidekick began backing away. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right. “What do you mean?”

 The Hero’s expression turned hurt. 

“Of course it’s me. It’s your Hero. I’m the same person you joined up with all those months ago.”

“No. You… you’re different. Something…” the Sidekick stuttered into silence at the sudden change in the Hero’s eyes. 

“Something what?” They asked. 

“Something changed in you.”

“Fah. Nothing changed. I’m still the same. My eyes were just opened fo the follies of the old ways. But together,” the Hero stepped closer, eyes fevered. “Together you and I can make this city whole. We can change THAT for the better. And after that?” Their eyes gleamed. 

“No. You’re wrong.” The Sidekick continued ending away, the Hero pacing after them, and only stopped when their back hit the wall. “You’re just… You’re becoming the Villain!” 

Silence resounded through the site. 

“What did you say?” The Hero’s voice was deadly quiet.  

The Sidekick stood up straighter, expression set.  

“You heard me. You’re becoming what you swore to stop.”

The Hero laughed then, a harsh sound so at odds with their familiar and once-kind face. 

“Don’t you see? I did stop it. I stopped the Villain.” They pointed at the Villain’s battered body. The Sidekick glanced, and looked away quickly. 

It was all wrong. 

“Yes. But what cost?” The Sidekick asked quietly. 

The Hero regarded them steadily, considering. 

“I see,” they said. They sounded sad. “I understand.” They took a step forward, and the Sidekick cringed away, hands grasping for something, anything, to use as a weapon. “You just don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” The Sidekick’s hand found something loose and metal. They grabbed it, but kept it hidden. 

“My vision.” The Hero signed, suddenly exhausted. “And I can’t have shortsighted people working with me. You’ll only slow me down.”

They primed the gun, and the Sidekick suddenly understood. 

“This is your last chance,” the Hero said, leveling the gun at the Sidekick’s chest. “Are you with me? Or-“

The Sidekick, cold metal in their hand, didn’t hesitate. 

“No.” 

Before the Hero could react beyond a narrowing of their eyes, the Sidekick swung. They caught the Hero in the face with a slim metal pipe. A sickening sound followed the impact. 

The Hero shrieked in pain, clamping a hand to their eyes, the gun falling to the floor with a clatter. 

“WHAT DID YOU DO!” They screamed, curling forward. Blood dripped between their fingers, papping on the concrete. Snarling, the Hero’s hands dropped away, and the Sidekick bolted from the sight of the Hero’s contorted face. From the one bloody eye socket and the remaining eye that was filled with fury. Nothing remained of the person they’d met and spent so much time with.

And come to love, in their own way.

“YOU FUCKING LITTLE SHIT!” The Hero lunged for the Sidekick, but missed, their depth perception forever skewed. 

The Sidekick dodged the grab, and ran as fast as they could while the Hero continued screaming profanities behind them. 

They burst out into the empty yard of the site, tripping over boards and other hazards. They didn’t care. 

“YOU WILL PAY!” Screamed a voice they didn’t recognize as the Hero’s. “YOU HEAR ME?! THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING!”

The Sidekick tripped, skinning their hands and knees as they slid over the gravel and sand covered ground. They barely felt the sting as they struggled to their feet and kept running. They didn’t stop until they were a mile away, the Hero’s tortured screams echoing in their mind. 

What have I done? The Sidekick thought, staggering to a stop under a street light, gasping for breath, and in horror. 

The Villain was dead, killed by the Hero. 

And the Hero was…

The Sidekick sank to their heels, curling around themselves, and wrapping their blood-speckled-hands around their knees. The ropes were still hanging from their wrists. 

With an agonized cry they struggled out of the coarse cords, flinging them as far away as possible. They grabbed their hair, failing to keep the panicked sobs from escaping. 

The Hero had become the Villain, hadn’t they? 

And that meant-

They were the Hero. 

Grey

A Hero/Villain Piece

In which a new, recurring side character is introduced: The Sidekick.

“So it comes to this,” the Villain sneered. Defiance flashed in their bruised eyes as they glared at the Hero from their knees. They took a deep breath, refusing to grimace as their ribs creaked. The Hero could hit hard when they wanted to. And if they were properly motivated. The Villain relished the satisfaction of a job well done, despite the pain. They had finally found the Hero’s weakness. At the cost of a few broken ribs and ruined coat, sure, but they knew how to plan for the future now. 

“Doesn’t it always?” The Hero asked. They looked impassively down at their nemesis. Blood covered the Villain’s face and stained their once impeccably white shirt. The sleeves were torn at the shoulder, soot and dirt was smeared across their chest, and their pants were ripped at the knees, their boots scuffed beyond repair. The remains of their coat lay in tatters around them, the fabric little more than threads. 

“Well, yes. But I’m usually the one standing over you crowing my victory.”

The Hero ignored the Villain’s jape, and turned to look at the wall behind them.

“Are you alright?” They called.

“Y… yes!” Came the quavery reply. From around the corner appeared the Hero’s Sidekick. They were battered and shaky on their feet, but at least they were alive. 

Seeing them, the Villain laughed, a harsh, maniacal cackle that frayed the Hero’s nerves. They’d heard that laugh too many times, and it never boded well.

“Stay where you are,” the Hero barked as the Sidekick approached.

“But they’re-”

“DO WHAT I SAY!” The Hero’s voice took on a quality that surprised the Villain. The Hero sounded… Frightened? Furious? That was interesting.

With a look that mirrored the Villain’s sentiment, the Sidekick stopped just out of reach. They wrapped their arms around their torso, shielding the cuts and bruises the Villain knew were visible through their thin, ripped shirt. After all, the Villain had inflicted them personally. 

Silence filled the warehouse, the sounds of the night-enshrouded city reaching the trio as if through a fog. It was one of the Villain’s favorite locations in the city. Just central enough to run the risk of getting caught, but just far enough out of the way that it was unlikely for screaming to be heard.

“I’m surprised,” the Villain rasped, breaking the relative silence. “I didn’t expect you to actually try to kill me.” They coughed, spitting a gob of bloody phlegm on the ground, disgusted with their mortality.

“You changed the rules when you brought them into this,” the Hero said, jerking their head at their Sidekick. “It was supposed to be just you and me. No one else.”

“Oh my darling Hero, such naiveté. It was never just about us.”

“What do you mean?”

“How can you say it was only ever about us with an entire city out there?” If it didn’t hurt so much the Villain would have gestured to encompass the surrounding metropolis. As it was, they sat up a little straighter, staring the Hero in the eyes. “It’s always been about them.” The Villain nodded at the Sidekick, who flinched as if they’d been struck. “About how they perceive us. How we affect them.”

“It’s not. You’re wrong,” the Hero whispered, anger flickering in their eyes. The cuts on their knuckles cracked open as they clenched their hands; blood trickled down their fingers.

“Am I?” The Villain laughed again, coughed, and sagged back onto their heels, supporting themself with an arm braced on the ground. Monologging was difficult with broken ribs. “Tell me, my Hero. When has anyone from the city ever asked about you, personally?”

The Hero’s silence was answer enough.

“Exactly. You see, it was never about us. It’s always been about our game, and what that game brings to news feeds and conversations. They don’t care about us. Hero, Villain. It makes no difference. We’re just actors to them, never mind that we live and walk among them. Even your lovely fragile Sidekick over there thinks so. Look at how they adore you, worship you, as if you’re nothing but an idol.”

“Then why did you bring them into this?” The Hero asked, eyes flicking to their Sidekick. They watched the exchange with rapt attention, proving the Villain’s point.

A satisfied smile crept across the Villain’s face.

“The game was growing stale. The masses’ attention was wavering. It was time to bring in a new player.”

Without warning, the Hero drew a gun from an inner pocket and leveled it at the Villains’ chest. Their carefully neutral visage cracked, their face filled with loathing.

The Villain’s eyes widened in fear for but a second before they schooled their own expression into unconcerned indifference. But the Hero saw the fear. Had they been looking anywhere but the Villain’s face, they would have missed it.

“Oh come on, really?” The Villain taunted. “Since when-“

“Since you made it personal.”

The Villain shrugged, the movement coming across as nervous rather than nonchalant. “It’s always been personal, my dear. Why do you think I chose you? Why I chose them?”

“Why?”

“You’re interesting. More interesting than other Heroes I’ve broken in the past. You’re resilient in a way that I admire. You remind me of me.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

The Villain chuckled. “We’ll see, my dear. We’ll see.”

The Hero didn’t say anything, but kept the gun leveled at the Villain. The Sidekick looked from one to the other, trepidation and confusion etched on their young face. 

“Go on then, do it!” The Villain surged to their feet so the barrel of the gun was inches from their chest. “You don’t have what it takes, do you? To kill someone in cold blood? Not unless you’re defending yourself or someone you love.” The Villain spat, ’love’ sounding like it burned their tongue. 

An ugly sneer contorted the Hero’s face as they struggled to keep their hand from shaking. They swallowed, and the Sidekick pressed a hand to their mouth, their eyes riveted on the Hero. 

After tense moment the Hero lowered the gun, never breaking eye contact with the Villain. 

“I knew you couldn’t do-“ the Villain’s taunt morphed into an agonized scream as the Hero shot them in the leg, the crack of gunfire echoing through the warehouse with deafening violence. The Villain fell back to their knees with another scream as their leg buckled.

“Oh my god!” The Sidekick yelled in horror.

The Hero glared down at the Villain. An unexpected, not wholly unwanted sense of pleasure bloomed through them as the as Villain writhed in pain at their feet for once. 

“You talk too much,” they said, failing to suppress an ironic smile.

“That’s no reason to shoot me!” The Villain groaned, holding their bleeding, mutilated thigh with a white knuckled grip. 

Chuckling, the Hero crouched down and took the Villain’s jaw between their fingers, pressing the barrel of the gun lightly against the Villain’s cheek. Their pleasure only grew to see genuine fear and doubt cross the Villain’s face. 

“Perhaps not,” the Hero said, their voice icy. “But kidnapping and torturing my Sidekick is.”

The Villain growled, and jerked their head away. The Hero let them, standing in a fluid movement. 

“You said the game was growing stale,” the Hero continued. “But you’re not the only one who can change the rules.”

With a turn the Villain reluctantly appreciated, the Hero strode away.

“Come on,” the Hero said as they neared their Sidekick, gently taking their arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“But what about them?” The Sidekick asked, looking back at the Villain as they headed for the nearest door.

“Them?” The Hero looked over their shoulder, eyebrows raised.

The Villain snarled, lost their balance, and fell on their side with a grunt, blood oozing between their fingers to stain the concrete beneath them. “Don’t worry about them. Let’s go.”

The Hero and Sidekick were at the door when the Villain spoke up.

“Don’t leave me here, damn it!” They cried, desperation and pain tingeing their voice.

“You’ll be fine.” The Hero waved a dismissive hand, turning their back on their nemesis. “You always are, aren’t you? I’ll be disappointed if you don’t make a miraculous recovery.”

Without looking back the Hero guided their Sidekick outside, the Villain’s enraged, pained scream echoing after them. 

***

Fifteen minutes later the Villain staggered to their feet, leaving a trail of bloody bootprints in their wake.

Reaching the nearest wall, they sagged against it for support while they caught their breath. Their… everything fucking hurt, but their other injuries were pale trivialities compared to searing pain of the bullet wound.

With a grunt, the Villain pushed themself off the wall and kept going. As much as they wished they could call death and destruction down upon the city in petty vengeance, they knew that revenge was a dish best served cold and well prepared. 

Looking at the door through which the Hero had left, a satisfied chuckle shook itself from the Villain. 

During the Hero’s righteously indignant exit, they failed to remember their Sidekick. The Hero had been so determined to have the final word that they didn’t notice the youth glance back at the Villain, didn’t notice the look of reluctant, misplaced sympathy filling their eyes.

Oh, yes. The Villain thought. This time revenge is going to be sweeter than your cries of pain, my dear.

“You want to play that game, do you?” The Villain hissed, fear and pain replaced by furious determination.” They took another hobbling step forward and fell to their hands and knees with a strangled cry. Gritting their teeth, the Villain forced themselves to their feet, to take another step. A glint caught their eye, and the they reached down to retrieve a steel pipe. It was thin, if a little heavy. It would have to do for now. “Fine, we’ll play that game.” The Villain took an experimental step, using the pipe as a cane. They didn’t fall. “And before we’re finished, you’ll wish you had killed me when you had the chance.” 

Cravings

The restaurant was busy. Not busy enough for serving team to be frantic, but busy enough to maintain a constant hum of vague conversation and the clinking of cutlery on porcelain.

Valeria –the raven-haired woman in the little black dress and red heels at table thirty-four – was bored. She had only agreed to come on this thrice-cursed date because she was bored. Not that she’d admit it to anyone, but she missed the courting scene. Unfortunately courting had changed a great deal since the 1650’s.

As is the case with most solitary, long-lived people, she wished she’d cancelled and stayed home in her bathrobe to mope about the state of modern men with a box of popsicles, ketchup potato chips, and Spanish soap operas. Besides, going out only brought her closer to succumbing to her one, insatiable craving. She inhaled deeply; the smell of so much fresh blood, the pressure of so many pulses just out of reach, was maddening

She eyed her date – a man in his early thirties with thick brown curls named Calvin – and wondered what in the 9 circles of hell convinced her to say yes when he asked her out at a bar a week ago. Considering his relative attractiveness and decent grooming, she agreed, excited at the prospect of a man taking the initiative for the first time in months. She’d also just eaten and was in a rare gregarious state and acquiesced to his request for a ‘pleasant evening out’ willingly.

Presently, however, Cal was rambling about sashimi or caviar or something and Valeria was having a hard time paying attention. He had shaved before coming and cut himself on the corner of his jaw. The scab was still there, a dark red dot on his light brown skin. The only thing Valeria could think of was how his collar pressed into the skin of his neck. Oh, how she wanted to run her nails down his throat and back and…

Cal paused and took a drink of the 2010 Napa Merlot they’d split. The lull snapped her out of her daydream. She caught the movement of his hand and glass to his lips, and Valeria didn’t bother trying to not stare at Adam’s apple as it bobbed with each swallow.

What the hell. She was on a date, for Darkness’s sake.

Wrapping a curl of raven-black hair around a finger, mischief glinting in her red-brown eyes, Valeria ran the toe of her stiletto up his leg as he took another sip.

Cal jerked back, spilling wine over his chin and down his neck, barely missing his cerulean-blue tie. Valeria’s tongue flicked absently over her dark red lips, eying the way the Merlot dribbled towards his too-white collar. A little blood on that collar would certainly take his sex appeal to another level.

“Oh! Damn me.” Calvin laughed. Valeria’s heart lurched at the nervousness in his laugh, the way his shoulders tensed. “I can’t be trusted to wear white without getting something on it.”

Forget sex appeal. All this hunk of man flesh was good for was eating. And she was denied even that pleasure by the presence of nosy strangers who would call the cops or do something equally stupid, and she wasn’t in a mood for violence… She was just hungry. She couldn’t help that she had special dietary needs.

Wiping the wine from his chin with a grey napkin, Cal shattered the illusion of a bloody throat. Valeria sat back, arms folded over her stomach, and pouted, running her tongue over the teeth that were slowly sinking back into her gums.

“Have you been here before?” he asked, folding his hands under his chin in another attempt to start a conversation.

“Yeah. Once.” She tapped absently on the tabletop with a sharp, onyx nail. They’d ordered twenty minutes ago, and there was no sign of their skinny waiter and she was getting bored. Well… more bored.

“How was it?” he asked, missing her hint that she wasn’t interested in talking. “When you mentioned you liked nice places, I figured I’d try here since I haven’t been here myself. Does it live up to the reviews?”

She hummed noncommittally, shrugged an exposed shoulder. After a beat, during which Cal rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat twice, he smiled awkwardly and asked her if she knew anything about potato farming. Valeria said no, she didn’t, and had to resist banging her head on the table when Calvin started talking again. It seemed like he was afraid that something interesting would happen if he was quiet for too long.

A moment later something interesting did happen. Valeria sensed something off.  It wasn’t much, hardly more than an increased heart rate. Cal’s heart was beating fast, yes, but that was to be expected. She’s worn this dress for exactly that reason. This was something else. Something with a desperation that made her want to bare her fangs and start ripping throats out.

Turning, aware of how her breasts pressed against the fabric of her dress, Valeria scanned the restaurant. It took her a moment to locate the source, the ambient ebb and flow of blood obscuring the panic, but she soon found the source.

A young woman, maybe 23, was sitting with her arms folded defensively over her chest, glaring at her date. The man wasn’t getting the message and kept reaching across the table for her. Valeria couldn’t hear what he was saying but judging by the girl’s posture and the growing aggression of the man it wasn’t good. As she watched the man, a typical god’s-gift-to-humanity type, grabbed the girl’s wrist, jerking her hand towards him, nails digging into the soft underside of her forearm. The neighboring diners were beginning to notice, yet none of them moved to intervene. Even the waiters skirted around the table, afraid of interrupting something.

Valeria’s eyes narrowed. With a fluid motion she stood, hand resting on her wine glass.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment?” she said, cutting Cal off. “I have some… business to attend to.”

He closed his mouth and sat back in his chair, brushing his hair back from his forehead with a sigh.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’m boring you. It’s just been so long since…”

 Valeria didn’t hear the rest of his apology as she made her way towards the confrontation, glass in hand. As she approached, she heard the boorish man growling at the girl as she tried to pry his fingers from around her wrist:

“Stop being such a coy little bitch, won’t you? I asked you out because…”

In three more strides Valeria was looming over him, a dangerous smile on her face. He broke off and sneered up at her. The girl’s look of desperate hope was enough of a plea for Valeria.

“What do you want?” the man asked loudly, his voice carrying through the circle of silence that had surrounded their table. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of som…”

He never got to finish. The instant his attention was off the girl Valeria splashed the entire glass of wine on his face and chest, making sure to soak as much of his designer shirt as possible.

“What the fuck, lady!? What sort of psycho bitch are you?”

The people surrounding them gaped. Two waiters stopped and looked at each other, eyes wide.

Valeria bared her teeth in a not-so-pleasant smile.

“You have a little something…” she pointed to the general area of his chest, the red wine soaking into the white fabric. The sight nearly sent her over the edge then and there. She shuddered, quelling her rising bloodlust.

With a snort and mumbled profanities, the man stood and stormed off for the restroom. The girl sat absolutely still, staring after him with round, glossy eyes. Like a rabbit before the…

No… Not her. Valeria though, shaking her head to banish the thought. She rested a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. The poor thing was quivering uncontrollably.

“You deserve better than him, sweetheart,” Valeria said bluntly, glaring after the man.

The girl blinked up at her. Then her face broke into a wide grin.

“Thank you! You don’t know… oh thank you!” she gushed, standing and gathering her things. She stuffed the entire basket of breadsticks into her purse and downed the rst of her drink in a massive gulp. “He wouldn’t leave me alone and I felt like if…”

“If you said yes, he’d eventually leave you alone. I know.”

“Yeah. But… thank you again…” the girl gave Valeria a brief hug before scurrying away. Then she turned, her doll face contorted in thought.

“But what about the tab? I don’t have enough-”

“Don’t worry, pet. It’ll be taken care of.”

Valeria’s smile was genuine this time.

With another shaky grin, the girl vanished out the doors, her scarf dragging behind her. Valeria ignored the questioning, judgmental gazes of the restaurant’s patrons as she returned to her table, not a hair out of place.

Calvin gaped are her as she poured the rest of the bottle of Merlot into her glass

“What… why… why did you do that?”

She gave him with a pointed look and drank half of the wine before answering.

“Some men are assholes and deserve their own given back to them.”

“I just… that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do,” Cal said, staring at her with awe. Taken off guard by his compliment, Valeria took another sip of her wine. She was spared from saying anything else by the arrival of their meal.

“Fettuccini e Vongole in la Salsa Bianca for the gentleman,” the pretty waitress said, placing a plate of perfectly steamed clams and pasta before the Calvin. “And La Bistecca Fiorentina, extra rare, for the lady.” She gave Valeria an appreciative nod before bustling off.

Cal began eating immediately, though his gaze was fixed on Valeria, a new appreciation shining in his brown eyes. Valeria poked at her steak. The plate was covered in warm blood, pepper floating on the surface. The meat itself was brown on the outside and hot all the way through, the middle a dark red, perfectly rare. She sighed: just a little too done for her taste.

Alright. Who was she kidding? Her steak was a lot too done. Raw would have been preferable, but she knew all she’d have received were skeptical eyebrows, a promise to ‘see what we can do,’ and a steak cooked beyond palatability.

How she missed the days when the word vampire struck terror into the hearts of mortals. How any fool who dared wander into her lands was up for grabs, and fresh blood was as common as blackened gum smears on the sidewalks were today.

She finished her wine. At least that was still more or less the same.

One day. One day she was going to treat herself.

But not today. The humans were enjoying themselves too much for her to ruin their evening with a blood bath. They were so sensitive these days.

Oh well. A partially rare steak would have to do for now.

And maybe… Valeria looked at Cal, considering him in a new light. It wasn’t common for a man to commend her brashness and fuck all attitude. Perhaps chivalry wasn’t dead after all.

She grinned at him and took a bite of her stake, fighting the shudder as the burned meat stuck in her throat. Cal returned the grin before flipping oil on his shirt.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned. He dabbed at the spot, succeeding only in making it worse. Valeria laughed at his sheepish expression, mind wandering back to a dark corner.

Just maybe the night would have a happy ending after all.