“Forgetting me so soon?” He spoke low, his body unbearably close to mine. My pulse raced, throbbed in my throat and at my wrist, something I was sure drove him crazy as he circled me slowly.
“No,” I managed. My voice caught in my throat. His fingers trailed lightly over my skin as he pulled the hair away from my neck. I shuddered, thinking of how what little light in the room must be glinting off his white, sharp teeth.
“I thought you’d be pleased about this…” he voice trailed off as he pondered what word to use. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, felt his breath soft and light at the curve of my neck. “…this transformation.” He stepped directly into my line of sight and held his hands at his sides, away from his body. The smile he flashed – goofy, casual – made me see him again. But then the smile faded and the monster was back, plotting and dreaming about my death.
“You’re not him.” I whispered.
He moved with cat-like grace around me, almost dancing, and caught the tips of my hair between his fingers. “But I look like him, don’t I?”
(c) 12/4/2007 jkl/rjm
One Comment
To be perfectly honest (I may hate myself for starting anything EVER with those words), I love vampire mythos, but lately it seems to have become fodder for young adult fiction, so I hope you’ll forgive me for being a bit wary when I started reading this. There are of course the minor errors of any initial draft, but the mood is fantastic–the terror presented by the predator circling its prey. What I really love though was that last line. That is golden. For all the snobbery that keeps a lot of genre fiction down, there are moments like that which shine regardless: “But I look like him, don’t I?”