Nobility of the night

Part I, The Hunter

He paused and sniffed the air. She knew death was following her and in a strange way, she welcomed it, longed for it. That is the paradox of mortals. They fear death more then anything else and yet, they long for its embrace. They try and push life to the limit to defy death. They only play at courage. They never truly know the face of death through their half closed eyes.

He had first seen the prey six days ago . . . Or was it more. Days had no real meaning, time was fleeting and there were times when weeks and months vanished to him. That was the paradox of the night. If you live forever, the time passes in spurts and leaps. Sometimes it seemed like years for one night to pass, sometimes it was a night and a year passed. Time was fluid and changing to those who gave it no mind.

He had seen her where she performed. Her lithe nude form twisting and turning on the stage in time with heavy rhythmic beats and discordant melodies. She had looked so alive, so tender. Her efforts made her blood race and her veins pulse and he caught scent of her need then. Her burning desire for him, for the night. She was, in a very real sense, waiting for him to come and kiss her, even then.

He had the impulse to leap upon the stage and take her before the eyes of the audience, but that was base and crass. Things like that marked those that would never be truly of the night. The night was seductive and subtle. It was not a harsh lover that took you by force. It slid into you as the day slid from the sky. While you were admiring the twilight it snuck up behind you and embraced you gently and rocked you into the shadows. At least that is how he remembered it, those many years ago.

Her skin was pale and clean of marks. He still found himself looking for pox marks after all these years, half expecting to see her beauty marred by purple scars of sickness. How terrible the death had been then, how merciless when it ravaged over everyone. While he had not felt the bite of sickness, he had felt the pain of hunger. The sick were taboo. The dying were best left to themselves, they were not for him or his kind. Those were days of famine to him and he turned his thoughts from them. No good to dwell upon them now when the prey was so close except to remind himself to be thankful. Like a grace to the night, he gave thanks for the bounty he followed from his hidden shadows.

He was hungry, but not hungry enough. His skin was still warm to the touch, enough blood coursed through his veins to satisfy his needs and then some. He paused to think about those within him. The mortal lovers of the past. Not lovers in the sense that mortals give to the word, making it trite and without real meaning. Not just someone he had had sex with. No, these were real lovers. Those who were part of him now. Their life was his and he enjoyed them in ways no mortal could understand. They beat in his heart and made him warm. They sustained him through his sleep. They were more then just sexual partners, they were part of him and he could still taste the dying breath of each one.

He always finished the prey off, always took the last taste of life. It angered him when some left their prey alive after embracing them. Left them to live a half life, devoid of passion for anything but death and the dying. He was attracted to the life within his lovers. How could he then leave them shells without any passion when he was done? He could not bring himself to leave them shells wishing only for his kiss. He cared for them too much for that. So that was why he waited. He needed his hunger to be so great it was consuming, that was his tribute to the prey, the lover, he would take tonight.

He always had sex with his prey; he liked to feel himself in them as they slowly ran down his throat in return. While some consider this to be akin to bestiality, having sex with mortals, he was not so lofty in his ideals. He never considered mortals a different breed and felt to do so was hubris. He looked at it like when he was still mortal. There were nobles, there were peasants, they were the same breed and just different stations. Traditions like Carpe Noctum were the act of the nobles blessing the peasants’ weddings by sleeping with the bride. It was a blessing to them and not a base act of debauchery. He blessed his victims with such passion; they finally knew true satisfaction as they closed their eyes.

This belief was not from an over inflated ego. It was from 500 years of practicing this art and being willing to learn even more from those who had been practicing it for thousands of years. He was night's lover. He was the passion and mystery and pleasure within the night, the sensuality of shadows, the burning desire of dreams that can only come when the midnight hour has long ago sounded. He was the flesh of the night's touch and the night was the most consummate lover of them all. It seduced the entire world every day and the world never resisted. It seduced it and then cradled it in its arms until daylight could no longer be denied. It was a quiet and thoughtful lover; it was discrete and never told its secrets. So he was as well. He was the last secret his lovers ever knew, the eternal secret that they never revealed.

Part II, The Prey

Sasha went by the name Angel on stage. She didn't look anything like a typical angel. Her long dark hair, alabaster skin, dark eyes, and full red lips that looked like they were stained with blood gave her the opposite look and she liked that. She was a dark angel of sin on the stage and men drooled and begged for her attention. She was their goddess and they lay down dollar bill tithes for her benevolent smile to be cast in their direction.

Then he came in. His eyes did more then look at her. She could feel him touching her with his gaze, caressing her skin and running his thoughts over her flesh as she danced. In a dark room of men, he was a shadow she could feel.

There was no way for her to know who he was. She did not know any of the many names he had gone by through the many years of his life. She did not know that his gaze was more than a gaze, it was a taste, a fondle, a promise he gave to her. But she could feel all of that. She could feel him holding her with that look. Those eyes piercing through the smoke filled room and enveloping her mind and swallowing her whole.

There was pride in that look he gave her. Most men had hunger or want in their looks but, not him. He had pride in it, he was proud of her. It was as though in that look he made her his and possessed her. She was his as soon as he gazed upon her. He watched and grew hungrier for her as they wanted her more. Her dance became inspired by that gaze and she found herself defining the bounds of her performance by her look. She danced for the other men to watch but, only for him to see.

She had been attracted to other men who watched her before but, that was just a physical thing. This man did not beg for her attention, did not struggle to catch her eye, and did not give her a posed "cool look" when her eyes fell upon him. He watched her as though she was an old friend, or an old lover, that he had not seen in years. There was a joy in the gaze that told her that he was here to see her and no one else.

There was a fluttering in her stomach which she hadn't felt in many years, like her first lover's touch on her when she was still a virgin and the excitement of Christmas morning when she was a child all rolled into one. It was the strangest feeling, a feeling of innocent decadence. It was like the tooth fairy that would slide into her bed and not just take the tooth. It was the sandman who would give her erotic dreams. That look, it made her feel fresh, new, innocent and at the same time, dirty and decadent. She had the strange feeling that this man was dangerous to her. He would be like black tar heroin in her veins. If the first hit didn't kill her, she would be hooked for life.

She had no way of knowing how dangerous he was to her. She had no way of knowing who he was and that his presence there indicated the end of her, at least as she knew it. She had dark fantasies. She had longings. She had dreams that she could be part of the night. But the man knew better. The man knew it was like when he was a child those many years ago, when the peasant children would play noble. They would pretend for moments, hours, in their fantasy world, that they could be the ruling class. But they never could. He, as a child, and this woman on the stage, had no way of knowing the truth . . . that nobility chose you. You did not choose nobility.

Nobility was not the acquisition of power, but rather, the expression of power. Mortals could not see beyond the ticking of the clock, the second hand defining their lives, the hour hand defining their dreams. Power was the ability to go beyond this. In the night, the ticking of a clock and the beating of a heart, the passing of a day and the passing of a life, are all the same in the shadows. Nobility is the ability to see this, but more than that, it is the ability to understand this. This is why her dreams, longings, fantasies and aspirations were the same as a child wearing a paper crown.

Sasha danced for him. She danced with every bit of passion in her soul. Suddenly, the lithe and supple movements of her body were begging him for his attention. She wished she could do more, but she would be fired. She wanted to run her hands over her body to show him what his gaze was doing to her, wanted to pull on her nipples, rub her fingers deep into herself to let him know that it was all for him, let him know how aroused she was. How wet. How wanting. But what she didn't know was that he knew already. His gaze tasted it all.

Part III, Satisfaction

He could feel her in his veins. He could taste her on his lips. The last traces of her dribbled down his chin. He felt her slide through his body and mingle with his other lovers. She was part of him now.

He closed his eyes so that he could feel the moonlight upon his face and for the first time, she could feel its warmth within him. For the first time, she could hear the night in his ears, could feel the gentle touch of the stars, tiny pinpricks of heat that caressed her deep inside him. Now she understood, even as she melded into him. She understood the night and how she could never have understood that on her own.

He felt her burning heat. He felt her passion. He felt the rhythmic beat of every song she had danced to, the lustful gaze of every man who had fantasized about her. He felt the thrill of exhibitionism and the sensuality of the dance. She allowed him to remember lust, not that he had ever forgotten it. But as she flowed through his veins, he remembered the poignant want of mortal flesh. He smiled and ran his hands over himself and reveled in the sensations she brought to him. His ears heard the music of the night, a million million hearts beating out the most primal of rhythms. She was at home now. She was with him.

He looked down at her body and gently crossed her arms across her breasts. He closed her legs and placed his coat upon her. Though it was only her shell, her cocoon, her chrysalis from which she had bloomed in his loving embrace, still, she would have dignity.

The moon was almost spent. The night dripped away like wine from a spilled goblet. He thought back and relived their meeting and in so doing, in a moment of mortal time, he savored the wine of the night and she saw through his eyes the elegance of the hunt. She saw how much he loved her. For the first time, she saw how truly beautiful she was.

Part IV, Stalking

He smacked his thoughts and reveled in the taste of her. There on the stage, nude, a fine layer of sweat glistened on her body, catching the tacky stage lights and staining her skin with motes of color.

Her dance had become more and more frenzied, more and more erotic, more and more passionate as she had become aware of his attention. The mortals couldn't see what he could. They became excited by her stiffening nipples. But he saw the heart that beats stronger and more passionately and pushed the blood to those stiffening nipples. They saw her shaved lips, moistened with the beads of her arousal. But he could taste that arousal. He could smell the blood which flooded her lips and spread them like a rose for him to pluck. They saw so little, he tasted so much.

At that moment, he decided that he owned her. Not as a possession, but as part of him. She would sate a hunger which had grown from a thousand thousand years of hunger. She would be part of a dance the night had designed for its own pleasure. Predator and prey. A ballet of passion, want and need. He didn't know when. He didn't know where. But he would have her, in every way imaginable. She looked up from her dance, peering between her spread legs and looked for him. He was gone. Maybe he was never there. Maybe he didn't exist. But as she slumped upon the stage and felt the aftershocks of his presence tingling through her body, she felt more satisfied than she had ever known before. His gaze had slid into her and slowly and forcefully made love to her from across the room. She trembled and grasped her breasts in her hands and felt the tickle of her juices dripping down her skin and onto the stage. My god, Sasha thought, please let him be real.

So it was each time he went to see her. His gaze would slowly penetrate her as she danced on the stage and he would ravage her soul as the mortals watched. They never knew what was truly going on, blind as they were. They saw only that her dancing had taken on a desperate and frenzied quality, passionate and sexual beyond just lewd bumping and grinding. There was something in her performance that touched them in ways they couldn't comprehend and would never be able to explain. They could not see it for what it was, the slow death throes of the shell and the emancipation of the spirit.

This went on for days, perhaps weeks. He didn't really know, didn't really care. Time was not for him. Time was not for her anymore, either. For she, in the first moment that she had allowed him to slide into her mind, with that first welcoming, had become his. In that act, she had surrendered to him. Knowingly or not, she had invited the hunt.

So he stalked her, not just upon the stage, but he was the shadow as she walked home at night. As she slept, her fitful slumber was witnessed by him. In broken dreams, she would remember bits and pieces: a shadow in her room, lips gently touching her neck, a hand pulling back her silk sheets to reveal her nude form, the sensation that she was being watched as she slid her clothes from her body. He was all of these things. Regarding her, he was omnipotent, for she was a part of him and he had had hundreds of years to know himself well.

On that final night, when his gaze slid into her and she could no longer control herself, her hands became his and upon the stage she allowed him to touch her, to caress her, to pleasure her. He knew it was time. So before he had ever laid hands upon her, before his lips had ever tasted her, he had made love to her in ways only the night could understand. He had caressed every inch of her soul and seduced her spirit to rapture. Before they had ever spoken, they had become the most intimate of lovers. Now it was time to satisfy the flesh.

Part V, The Knight Seduces

Sasha was not afraid walking home down the dark streets of the city. She had always felt there was a guardian angel watching over her or something. Perhaps she was charmed. So as she walked along in an unhurried pace, at first she did not even notice the shadow that had detached itself from the night and now stood before her. The first thing she noticed was the eyes. Maybe that's the first thing there was. But she felt them upon her, a familiar feel, the feel of a lover returning.

"I saw you dance." The voice was dark and smooth. It reminded her of the images of chocolate being poured, rich and tempting. It was really little more than a whisper, but the night air carried it across the distance with precision.

"Excuse me?" Sasha said, stopping in her tracks. She was afraid, but not afraid. Hadn't she longed to meet this man?

"I saw you dance." He repeated himself, as if the second time would explain his actions more clearly than the first.

"That's nice," she replied, trying to sound cold. She had run into far too many psychos in her line of work. He didn't say anything. He just smiled and she felt those eyes touch her again.

After a long moment, his voice shook the night with a whispered, "I enjoyed it."

She was not certain how to respond. She wasn't certain what to do. She wasn't certain of anything. Her instincts told her that this was danger. Her logical mind told her that this was trouble. But something deep down in her soul told her this was her deepest, darkest fantasy come to life. She looked like she might run at any second. That was okay. She couldn't get away. She didn't even want to get away. She was a deer in the headlights, frozen, fascinated, at his mercy.

"My name is Christian. I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed the dance. I didn't mean to intrude." With that, he turned and began walking back into the night. He did this not because he was really sorry, not because he was going to leave her alone, but because fear taints the taste. He could be coarse and rude and run up and say, "Hi. I'm going to kill you." But that prompts the release of adrenaline, which makes everything a bit sour. Never mind if he took too long to feed and her brain had too much time to register the pain and release endorphins . . . the hangover from endorphins could last for months. So instead, he did what he did.

Sasha was suddenly confronted not with a stalker, but with being left alone. She was not ready for that. Her mind set had gone on the defensive. She was prepared for lewd suggestions and physical force, not for courtesy and apathy. Before she knew what she was doing, she called out, "Wait."

Christian stopped, looked back at her, raising an eyebrow in question.

"I . . . Ummm . . . I didn't mean to be rude. It's just . . ."

". . . You meet a lot of perverts being a dancer," he finished for her.

"Yes," she said, as a grin crept across her face.

"I know," he said and returned her smile.

There was an unspoken conversation between them, an exchange of thoughts and desires. While she didn't realize it, he could tell her mood, tell her thoughts by the reaction of her body. Her pulse had quickened, her skin had grown damp from perspiration, her lips flush from excitement, and her breath short in anticipation. She told him volumes of information without a word.

In turn she saw his smile echoed in his eyes. His entire being seemed so unthreatening and yet dangerous to her. He quietly looked at her and she felt his gaze pierce into her very being, deep into her soul where she hid her most secret thoughts. He was staring at her like he had at the club and the effect was roughly the same, she felt her body go weak from his attention.

They bantered back small talk as they stood within the halo of the streetlight. He drank in every word that she spoke and tasted her mind. He savored her, allowing her thoughts to drip down his throat. This was the first time he had heard her voice and it was sweet to his ears. He did not have to feign interest in their small talk. To him, every word, every syllable, every nuance of her voice, was treasured. He delighted in her mind for what seemed like hours. The distance between them had closed to mere inches and neither had suggested walking on. It was as though the world was defined by the glow from the streetlight above. All else had ceased to be.

Christian could feel the night waning, slipping from his grasp. He was enjoying the simple pleasure of her company, something that was dangerous for him to do. His hunger was great, but he enjoyed the aroma of the feast so much that the dawn threatened to steal his prize from him. His voice deepened, not only in tone and inflection, but in resonance. It reverberated through her and the vibrations took control.

"I want you to come with me, Sasha," he said, in that melodic way. She did not think to question him. He made the choice for her. "I want to show you something. Something wondrous."