The girl, who was still sitting in the passenger seat, not able to see her companion standing by the car, craned her neck looking for him: she could see the woman was moving now…and there was also somebody else with her. At first, she had thought the man was Matt, but his clothes were different.

Zara, knowing that the human was now dead, stepped forward, throwing a grateful glance at Roland, who now pointed at the prey in a gentlemanly gesture, a prey lying ready for consumption; and it was a gesture which would have not been out of place in a very good restaurant. Roland: the sommelier of death.

“My lady,” he said, and smiled, wickedly.

She could smell the blood of the man, still warm; and kneeled over, tore his shirt off and bit the artery on the neck, then bit some of the skin off so that blood started pouring out copiously, staining the man’s clothes and the road. The big black pool looked like oil in the faint lunar light.

Blood was staining Zara’s clothes too, and the area around her mouth and face was crimson, her hands likewise: blood was dribbling down her neck. The vampire could think of nothing else but blood and gore now, her senses uncontrollably focused on tasting it, no matter what. The tips of her long hair were drenched with blood too.

The girl, as she saw the woman kneel down in the very spot where her companion had been standing, came out of the car, cautiously, not sure of what was happening: only a few seconds had passed and there was nothing to indicate that things weren’t okay, a noise…except, she couldn’t see Matt. She hadn’t drunk half as much as he had, and her senses were somehow more alert, if a bit numbed by the repeated beatings.

“Matt?” she called. No response, only the silence of the night, the desert, and a soft noise. “Lady? Matt? Are you there?” she called again, and as she motioned forward, still uncertain, an acre odor hit her nostrils…it took a few seconds to identify what that was…it cannot be.

As she walked around the car, in the moon light, it very quickly dawned onto her that not all was well…a scene that would haunt her until her old age hit her senses.

The woman was kneeling over Matt, who lied lifeless on the sandy road, his legs grotesquely splayed open; one shoe had fell off and was deposited half a meter away. She could see the woman’s back.

A man, very pale but of striking facial features, was standing over the pair, as if overseeing proceedings…he looked relaxed, calm, composed…there was, something horrible and surreal about the whole picture. She wondered, for a split second, if this was a dream, or a nightmare: she hoped so. There was no such respite: reality hit her fast enough as she smelled the blood, again. She pinched her left arm, to see if she was awake. She was.

She looked over, now terrified, realizing what had happened and… that she was next. What were her options? She could run, hope that she could run faster than these two: the woman was busy, anyhow, but the handsome man? Obviously a murderer, but she couldn’t help been struck by the surreal beauty of the assailant…his hair was dark, straight and mid length, his body the body of a god. He simply stood there, as if nothing had happened.

Petrified, she mentally opted to try her luck and make a run for it. Disappear into the night; somehow hope for escape and salvation. She didn’t believe in her plan herself, but it was better than passively accepting death. Plan A was the only plan.

As if reading her thoughts (he was, unknown to her) the murderer directed his gaze towards her. Their eyes met: transfixed, the girl felt terror and attraction, as his eyes pried into her mind. She could feel he was analyzing her.

“Even if you run and you manage to hide, I can still find you …your scent is rather strong, you know” the stranger said matter of fact.
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