She is exquisite .
It's the only way to describe her.
Loose red curls, just brushing her shoulders. Big green eyes that he fancies can see the blackest parts of his soul. Painted red lips, curved in a sardonic smile. She speaks to him without saying a single word. Her curvy body is hugged by a gorgeous, glittering red dress. To the naked eye, she looks every inch the playful 20 something, just out for a good time. He sees past that. She’s dangerous, damaged, a little broken, a coiled snake ready to spring.
Neither of them belong in the loud, bright lights of the dark club. He in his silk shirt, her in her overpriced red dress. She tilts her head, almost imperceptibly and brushes a curl behind her ear. He takes it as an invitation and follows her across the dancefloor, and out of the club.
He asks her her name.
She never asks his.
He can feel the blood coursing through her veins, the beat of her heart. She’s not scared, she’s excited. Her blood will be that much sweeter.
He’s not usually one for a fumble in a back alley. She’s too beautiful for dirty walls, and foul smells. He wants to take her apart, to make her fall for him for a night, and feast on her body and her blood.
She has other ideas, as she presses him back against the wall with strength that belies her petite form. Her kiss is firm. She knows what she wants. Her hands are quick and slipped under his jacket. His hands settle at her hips, pulling her close to him.
He’s dizzy with the scent of her, the warmth of her body and the sound of her blood rushing through her. Her fingers work his shirt free, and her dark red nails score his back. He supposes he has to give the alley credit, he won’t have to create excuses for the lack of marks they’ve left behind. He can feel them tearing at the skin, as she laughs softly against his mouth. Her laugh is low, and smoky and God, he’s half in love.
She pulls away, and he moves to chase her kiss, but he’s stuck. His body is weak, and no . He slumps to the floor, and she wipes at her lips with a thumb, before pushing back her hair and tapping at her ear.
She crouches beside him, while popping off the fake nails.
“Sorry, Elijah.” She says, stroking his face, “ Business .”
He snarls at her, bloody eyes and wicked fangs and she doesn’t even flinch. She winks and gets to her feet, as figures all in black jumpsuits and thick masks crowd him. She’s the last thing he sees as his vision goes black.
For a moment, with her red motif, he fears he’s finally met the devil.