Zara and Roland started walking, fast, very fast, towards the outskirts of the city, travelling through roads that became less and less lit, until there was one road running through the desert, in the semidarkness of the night, which was blessed by the full moon.

They ran and ran, free: as light as air, thinking little of what was and wasn’t, which their condition allowed, because there was no past and no future, in the sense humans intend at least. Their beautiful bodies and faces, as cold as the night itself, could feel no cold and warmth, only their senses tuned into whatever needed to catch their prey…how delicious, how addictive, the smell of fresh blood, of fresh prey.

The road was deserted, but down far away, approaching, they could see the tiny lights of a car. They stopped, he at one side of the road, she at the other, facing each other, Zara a bit nearer to the side…ready to spring.

It didn’t take long (although it was a slow progress in reference to the speed a vampire is used to) for the car to reach location. When the distance reached about 15-20 meters from where Zara was standing, she suddenly jumped in the middle of the road, effectively blocking the car’s progress. The driver, taken by surprise, jerked and broke speed, but the car was going too fast. It skidded on the sandy road, almost losing control, regained balance, and continued on its trajectory a further few meters before stopping, exactly a few centimeters from Zara’s shapely knees and legs, well wrapped in a pair of black tights and a tube miniskirt.

“Hey! Are you mad, lady?” yelled the driver, who opened the door and jumped out, holding on to it. His mouth smelled of alcohol. “What the hell are you doing, you bitch? I almost hit you!”

On the passenger seat Zara could see a girl, visibly much younger than this precious specimen of a man. Pathetic! The man paused, and looking at Zara in more depth, noticed the sexy attire and the killer body: her wild hair gave the whole picture a somehow surreal touch, in the spectral light of the moon.

A very beautiful woman, wearing skimpy clothes, a pair of  black boots,  a top which left very little to the imagination, had just landed in front of his car, in the middle of the desert…hey, Vegas. Anything can happen in Vegas. Maybe she needed help…

His tone was now gentler. “Look lady…you took me by surprise. That’s all, I’m happy you are okay. What are you doing here? You want a lift? It’s not safe here for you.”  

The girl in the car sat motionless, uttering no sound and making no movement, passively. She looked… scared. There was some bruising on her body. Zara could feel it, sensing it all over: the girl’s body was bruised.

Zara smirked at the man, taking notice of his train of thought, if only to make the hunt a little bit easier…not that this one was going to be problematic in any way. Two frail humans, in the middle of the desert, a piece of cake.

She stood there, legs apart, a look of defiance, looking straight into the man’s eyes.

When she didn’t appear to answer or show any sign of wanting to move, and the immediate shock of the avoided collision subsided, the man began to wonder if this situation was in fact a bit more than it seemed…but far too slowly, as the alcohol had slowed down his senses and instincts. Before he could make a move, any move, something incredibly strong and fast grabbed him from behind (hands?); one on his neck and one on his arm, and the thing threw him on the road face down, with such violence that his ribcage shattered on impact.

The man, now in agony because of the broken bones, emitted a pitiful sound. Roland stood beside him, ready to finish him: the poor wreck wasn’t going anywhere soon. Roland grabbed his head and gently twisted it; almost effortlessly…the neck was broken. The man instantly lost any strength, will and life. Roland picked him up (a ragdoll) and let him down, to check if he was still alive, or for fun really. He was gone. This all happened in the space of a few seconds.
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