John Abbott (john_abbott) wrote in low_tide, @ 2010-01-24 10:32:00 |
|
|||
Current mood: | hungry |
Hunger Pangs
"No, Mark, there's nothing to discuss." Izzy bit her tongue and counted to ten as she walked to her car after work, almost wishing her ex-fiance was in front of her to drop kick instead of only having his voice on the phone. "I've told you before, we're done. We want different things and you obviously don't think enough of me to respect my wishes. Goodbye." She hit the 'end' button a bit more savagely than she probably should have, but he just hadn't been getting the message. The witch wondered for the umpteenth time what her other self had seen in him. For a supposedly smart man he was remarkably dense.
This called for a night out. She didn't have to work tomorrow and she deserved some fun after dealing with her ex.
John had awoken that night with a brutal headache, which was partly due to a tequila hangover and partly to thirst.
For a vampire, drinking blood was the obvious solution to hunger, and yet sometimes he behaved like an Alzheimer's patient and went days without feeding himself. Sure, he could get distracted; he had gone days without feeding once because he couldn't bring himself to put down Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. This time it had more to do with being picky... So picky that he allowed himself to become physically uncomfortable in the waiting. He didn't want just any neck. He wanted the neck. How a vampire who often drank butcher's blood could be so particular about the human kind was a mystery. However, such was the case this week. He wanted neither pig nor cow nor sweaty sunbather. He wanted...
Well, frankly, he hadn't a clue what, only that he hadn't seen it.
A long time ago, it had occurred to John that he might subconsciously do such things on purpose -- toy with starvation -- just to add spice to his life. If it were true, he didn't care.
Outside the hotel, he paced and rubbed his jaw, trying to think up an excuse to distract a person, if they seemed right. Pretend his car battery died and call for help? Slash a tire and make a show of changing it? He looked up at a streetlight. Even the muted orange of it bothered his head.
Izzy was still stewing over her ex's latest attempt to get her to 'come to her senses' to pay much attention to her surroundings as she made her way out of the hotel and into the parking lot proper. The witch was still dressed in her business suit, the sound of her heels echoing off the concrete as she walked out into the lot. Damn company policy making employees park all the way in the back of the lot. It wasn't like most of the tourists had cars anyway.
John threaded his fingers into the curls behind his ear. He heard shoes and looked over distractedly, half-hoping whomever the woman turned out to be, it wouldn't be all that interesting. He wasn't ready. John sent a look downward to his clothes. The white button-down would've looked sharp with his black coat and trousers, if he hadn't left the shirttail out of his waistband. Privately, he thought he looked like a man who'd had too much fun at his bachelor party, though he wasn't sure why the image struck him.
"Excuse me, Miss, do you know what time it is?" He didn't make any moves, as prepared to do nothing at all as pounce.
Izzy glanced over in surprise at the question, a bit surprised to see anyone in the lot at this time of night. If guests weren't out killing brain cells in the bars a few streets over, they were normally sawing logs or making the beast with two backs in their rooms.
The man was about her age, her old age that was, maybe a bit older. Dark haired, nice build, but dressed like he'd been partying three days straight. He reminded her of Mark a little, in the facial features.
She checked her watch automatically. "Just after ten. Is everything all right?"
"Yes, it's--" He lowered his arm and put both hands on his hips, which flared his coat out. He turned to look at the nearest car, a black sedan with Florida plates. Was he hearing her heartbeat or hallucinating it? John's ability to hone his senses had increased dramatically over the century, but that would be pushing it, particularly in his current state. Hunger sharpened all the edges, but it hardly gave him clarity of mind.
I've locked my keys in the car. As quickly as John thought of the excuse, he discarded it. If she suggested calling for help, that would hardly help his cause... Unless the representative from Enterprise Rent-a-Car had a phenomenal throat, and he doubted it.
"I think I've been stood up," he said, laughing under his breath, as if he couldn't believe his bad luck. "This hasn't happened to me since I was..." He shook his head. "Twenty years old? It's a bit mortifying, actually." He split his time between looking at the asphalt and the blonde, whose gold name tag flashed at him. Isabelle.
"Oh no!" Izzy had a hard time believing anyone would stand him up unless there was something she wasn't seeing, but it never hurt to show sympathy. "That's horrible. Are you sure she's not just running late? What time were you supposed to meet?" The hotel parking lot was a strange place to meet a date, but one didn't question why guests did the things they did.
John pushed a hand into his pocket. "Nine-thirty," he confessed with a wince. "Well, if she hasn't stood me up, she's in no particular hurry." He sniffed and scratched his right earlobe, letting silence fall between them while he looked up. Beyond the bright ball of electric torture for the eyes, the sky was jet black with cloud cover. There weren't any stars in sight. The name Isabelle tickled in the back of his head until he remembered a piece by an obscure American poet. 'Would you love her you must know her, And in loving feel the spell, Breathing thro her name when spoken___ Isabel.' What was the fellow's name who wrote that? Cavanaugh or something.
"You ah... You work at the desk?" He gestured to the hotel, which loomed behind the blonde woman's shoulder. "It's a nice place, I've been in once or twice."
"Concierge desk," Izzy said automatically, wondering what he was still doing here in the parking lot if he wasn't a guest and certain he'd been stood up. She wasn't worried quite yet, but still. "It is a very nice hotel, I enjoy working here." Izzy decided it was safe enough to at least introduce herself, maybe he was a guest at one of the other hotels and the accent was cute. The witch held out her hand and smiled. "I'm Isabelle, but you probably already guessed that." The fact that he'd checked her out hadn't escaped her attention. He probably had read her name badge since she'd forgotten to take it off.
He jumped to attention and shook her hand. "John," he said. Cavaness. J.M. Cavaness. The thought distracted him and it took effort to knock his brain back into gear. What did it matter who wrote the poem? His mouth was dry and he took a glimpse of her neck, then willed himself back to her face. Her features were pleasant, wideset and warm when she smiled. There was a roundness to her O's when she spoke, too, and he guessed she was from the south, only not this far down. 'Looking in her eyes so tender, As into a dark, deep well, Heaven's light you there behold in___ Isabel.'
He leaned back against the black car, folding his arms across his chest as loosely as he could manage. "I'm in town on holiday," he said, "Though not staying here. Afraid it's a rival hotel. They lured me in with the promise of a bar in the swimming pool. I don't even swim, but I had to see it for myself." He smiled ruefully, playing the part of hoodwinked tourist.
"Well, I won't hold it against you, John." Izzy laughed politely. His hand was cool but there was a bit of breeze so maybe he was just cold. "If you don't swim there's still plenty to do here in Key West. I'm just glad to see tourists, what with the economy and all. I'd be out of a job before my career hardly got started otherwise." She wondered what part of England he was from, his country of origin was obvious but she had no idea if he was from London or some other part of the island.
"Yes, well..." He tipped his head and put on some friendly sarcasm. "Who could resist the temptation of the Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum of Torture and Execution?" Even as an undead creature of the night, he found that a bit odd. Wax figures of beheaded martyrs of the Spanish Inquisition? The town was full of such contradictions, paradise juxtaposed with the macabre. "I'm kidding, of course. I went to Hemingway's house."
He scuffed his shoe against a pebble on the pavement and breathed. Underneath the salty scent of the ocean, he smelled Isabelle's skin and hair. His stomach churned and the pounding in his temple doubled. It was not like John to feed off someone in an open lot... Someone who was sober and could remember details of his face. Were he to attempt it, he might do well to kill her outright. It would be a hassle. She wasn't a tourist; she lived and worked on the island. Were there cameras on the lot? Was his face in shadow? He debated the merits of waiting for another person.
"Since it appears that I am being stood up, could you recommend somewhere for me to drown my sorrows?" John shifted against the car and his jacket made a soft rustling sound.
"Well..." Izzy wasn't quite sure if he was genuinely asking or just trying to hit on her. "I guess it depends on what kind of bars you like and type of music you're in the mood for. Key West has dozens of bars, you can find just about anything. You could always try Sloppy Joe's, and Captain Tony's is always popular." She was thinking of heading to Rick's herself, after a quick trip home to change into club clothes.
"If you don't mind a college-aged crowd you can always try Rick's."
College-aged. The wheels turned in John's head. Twenty-somethings often had little concern for responsible behavior, even if he was a bit old and overdressed to blend into the crowd. It was a concern he had recently, that he would be noticed, an oddity lurking in bars just before people disappeared, only to turn up later with neck wounds. It wasn't as if he could pick up a tan to blend in. Still, he ought to change up his modus operandi. "I haven't heard of Rick's," he said. "Could you point me in the right direction?"
He pushed off the car and stepped closer to Isabelle, though he pivoted away from her to face the street, as if waiting for the blonde to lift her arm and gesture east or west. He put his hands in his pockets again. "Hopefully I won't find myself on a stool next to my reluctant date."
"I doubt you'll have to worry about that," Izzy smirked as she turned to point in the right direction. She still had a hard time believing this guy would get stood up by any woman with a pulse, unless he was a first class jerk. That wasn't the vibe she was getting, but so far she'd only known him five minutes.
"Rick's is about three blocks east of here and a block north. On the corner of Duval and Charles streets."
He leaned closer and thought about it. "It's the one with the laser lights, then?" He seemed surprised she had mentioned it. Perhaps it was the business attire, but Isabelle had struck him as more posh than that. "I was near it last night. More of a club, really." He looked at her. While the noise and spectacle didn't appeal to him, there was something to be said for a venue that crowded. John's fingers wrapped around the keys in his pocket, so tight that he felt each notch carved into the metal. Up close, there was no mistaking the sound of her pulse. He began to wonder if he would make it out of the parking lot, after all. He reached up and rubbed his eyebrows with a thumb and forefinger. 'Now and thro eternal ages,
Angels round about her dwell...'
"Thank you." He waved his hand. "For the suggestion. It's appreciated." He took a step backward.
"No problem," Izzy waved off the thanks with a breezy smile. "And as far as the club versus bar, it all depends on what you like. The downstairs is more a conventional bar, but upstairs is for dancing. Take care John and have a fun rest of your holiday!"
The tourist had been safely helped to figure out what he wanted to do; now it was time to go home and change. She smiled her goodbye and turned to travel the rest of the way to her car.
John lifted a palm up to his mouth, the forefinger pressing on his top lip. He watched her go and while part of him wanted to congratulate himself on his restraint, another more worrisome part had focused in on something of Isabelle's: the quality of her walk and the way her hips swayed. A tiny slit ran up the back of her skirt. It was only a couple of centimeters, but something about it captured his attention. Well, not just something, but he was hard-pressed to admit an image as vague as that could send his mind into the gutter.
His fingers tucked into a fist. Damn it to hell. His forehead crumpled into the crest of a vampire.
He set off after her, moving faster than he had any right to. From behind, John clamped his fingers around her mouth. The other arm encircled her torso to keep hers tight in place at her sides. "I am sorry. I really meant to let you go. It's the damned skirt."
"Mmph!" Izzy's muffled shout was barely audible more than a few feet from where they struggled. In the brief second she had to think about it before panic took over, the witch cursed the fact that the hotel had been too cheap to replace the lights near her car. Half the lights were burnt out and the shadows loomed large here and would make it very hard for anyone to see it from the lobby. What had she been thinking?
She struggled to break out of his embrace but his grip was like iron and she couldn't move a millimeter. Her mind raced through all the possibilities that could happen to her, all of them bad. With her arms pinned and mouth covered even the simplest spell was beyond her grasp as well. That left only one chance. Stomp on his foot with everything she had and scream her head off when he let go of her mouth.
Irritated, he cinched his arms tighter. "Ow." He had spread his feet for balance. The point of Isabelle's heel scraped against his instep, but didn't do serious damage. By now, his stomach was knotted in anticipation of the blood he could practically taste, it was so close. John grit his teeth together and said, "If I were you, I'd hold very still, or this will make a bigger mess of your neck than it has to." He opened wide and bit into her throat.
The implication of his words caused her to go very still as requested, but more out of shock. Vampire, he was a vampire. She'd noticed the signs but hadn't put them together, and now she was going to die.
A flare of pain as he bit into her neck and began to drink, and a small part of her wondered how long it would take for him to drain her as she heard the gulping noises from the vampire's feeding. A whimper escaped from her mouth past his fingers, and all she could think was how much of an idiot she'd been to be so complacent. Key West wasn't Chicago, but Slayers had been sent here for a reason and she should have known better.
Barring a miracle nobody would be coming to her rescue this time. The hotel might as well have been two states over for all the good it was going to do her, and nobody would be coming back this way from Duval street for hours yet.
John closed his eyes. He didn't need them. The taste of flesh and blood, coupled with the soft sounds Isabelle made, blinded him to the rest of the world, anyway. Her hair was soft on his ear and the perfect swell of her backside pushed against his thighs. It made the clenching of his stomach subside. That itching, all-over, addictive need that he had loathed from the first night he woke as a vampire eased, too. It was a lucky thing John didn't have a soul, because he might've felt the shame that came on the heels of euphoria, whenever anyone obeyed a craving like that.
He drank until he had enough. Then he slowed, about to stop before the killing point as he often did, to leave the victim fuzzy-headed and tired and cold, but more or less alive.
But he reconsidered. This one will talk. Why he thought so, John couldn't say, but he thought she had a bit more spunk than usual, even if her defensive skills weren't anything to write home about. 'Heaven guard, and guide, and keep her___ Isabel.' That bloody poem kept scratching at his brain, and it wasn't even any good. He forced his mouth away from her throat, but kept his arms around her. Elsewise, she might've fallen flat on her face.
John rested his nose on the back of her head and took a few breaths he really didn't have to. "Alright, then." He relaxed his grip and squeezed her shoulders before nudging her forward. "Off you go." Off I go, if I can get my wits about me.
Izzy swayed somewhat, dizzy and lightheaded from blood loss but thankful the vampire seemed to only want a snack. The lightheaded feeling didn't stop her from snagging a stray thread from the cuff of his coat after he disengaged his fangs though. There might not have been anything she could do to stop him physically, but once she got out of this and recovered the witch intended to make this meal one the bloodsucker would never forget.
She moved forward, almost tripping over her feet in her haste to get away from him and find someplace safe. Would her car count as safe? Would she even be able to drive? It didn't matter, she'd been given another chance at life and she intended to make sure it stuck.
Now if she could just warm up.