She sat upon a tree stump, her face turned up towards the setting sun. Strands of crimson had woven themselves into the rich silk of her hair, complementing the copper stain of her skin. So beautiful, he thought as he crept towards her. Like a poem.
Two deep blue eyes turned to regard him. "Well, what a surprise. My own personal stalker. Every time I turn around you're there, moping about like a wet weekend."
The young man shrugged. <The others sent me. They're ready to leave.>
He tried not to watch as the girl slowly, deliberately, picked herself up off the ground in a display of buttocks and long legs. She spent far too long wiggling her assests in his general direction, each movement cutting him deeper than a knife blade. Two powerful hands contracted into fists by his side.
<Must you do that?> His telepathic tone dripped hurt.
"Do what? Exist in the same world as you? Date someone who isn't anywhere near as immature and moody as you?"
<Wave your arse in my face like the sad little slapper he's turned you into. What is it with you, Paige? Look at you - look at the clothes you're wearing! Like he's got you walking the streets for - >
"You hypocrite! I've seen photos of your precious Gayle ... "
The girl pushed past him, her shoulder knocking into his with enough force to send him reeling backwards. His eyes narrowed, red-hot hatred seething through what was left of his veins.
<Yeah. But she had the one thing you need to carry it off, sweetheart: Class.>
She whirled around, ripping away the skin from her right hand to reveal a titanium fist. Before he could react the metal appendage glanced his forehead.
"Smug bastard!" The tears seemed to melt on her cheeks, so inflamed was her anger. "Think you're so hard with your sarcasm and ... and your leather and ... . You're pathetic, Starsmore! Pathetic! As scarred inside as out!"
Was it the force of the blow or her scathing words that made him stagger back? His world was spinning; ebbing away in a tide of long blonde hair. Starsmore half-moved to follow her but his legs buckled beneath him.
Bleeding sunlight spattered the ground around him. Steaming, evaporating ... forming a red haze that shimmered in time to his heartbeat. It was only when he went to rub his stinging eyes that he realised she'd split his head open and he was losing blood fast.
Hot, viscous blood, trickling down his ravaged face. The young man doubled over, his hands raking at the earth as a spasm of pain tore through him. Burning: a white-hot inferno of agony that cauterised him from the inside out.
And he was screaming now. Screaming as the fingers of dying sunlight scratched at his convulsing body. Screaming as flesh blistered and melted like so much candle wax. Screaming as a terrible, insatiable hunger filled the void of his carcass.
Only once the moon had risen to ascendancy did the screaming finally stop ...
With an irritated sigh, Corrine paused the CD and stomped over to the door. Every time she planned a quiet night in with Rob Zombie and Jose Cuervo, the same thing happened: visitors.
"I'm coming, for Christ's sake!" she yelled as her would-be guest's slight rap became an impatient, loud knock.
She threw open the door with a snarl on her lips, half-expecting to be confronted by one of her girlie mates and yet another boy-related sob story. Instead, Corrine was greeted by a tall, black-clad young man with deep brown eyes. Eyes that glistened with a hint of danger.
"Jonothon? Well, well, well - this is a surprise. I haven't seen you since that disastrous dance." The quarter of a bottle of tequila flowing through her veins made her adopt a sluttish, come-and-get-it stance. "Even quieter than usual, huh? Let's see if we can't loosen your tongue ... amongst other things ... ."
The young man stood still, silent. Corrine smiled drunkenly and grabbed his hand.
"You comin' in or what?"
<you insist.>
Corrine steered him over to her bed and sat him down next to her. What was it about him that made her want to rip his clothes off? The enigmatic, taciturn airs? Or the inpenetrable black leather and guitarist's callouses? Whatever; he was here alone with her now - at her mercy. She clumsily adjusted her tight lycra top in a way only an alcoholic could find alluring and lurched over to the CD player.
"We've got so much to catch up on. How come you never called me? Still hung up on that airhead blonde, huh?" Corrine was rooting through her CD collection. "Drink?"
<No. Thank you.>
"What you wanna listen to? Buttholes ... Fu Manchu ... Orange Goblin ... shit! You know, the worst thing about metal is there's nothing to make out to!" Corrine giggled and pressed her finger against her lips. "Oh man! Outta the mouths of drunks and children! That is why you're here, isn't it? To pick up where we left off?"
<I came to tell you a secret.>
Her face fell. "Oh. Right. A secret. Sure."
<I would have shared it with my friends but they're in town seeing some lame movie. And I couldn't wait, Corrine. If I wait any longer, it'll tear me apart.>
"I'm all yours," she replied, her expression full of hope.
Starsmore's fingers started to unwind the bizarre, bondage-network of leather straps that held his body together. Corrine gulped down a glass of tequila and tried to force a nonchalant look onto her face.
"You haven't had some obscene tattoo done, have you?" Corrine asked, all the while remembering what one of her friends had told her. He'd been in a fire - was horrifically disfigured. What if he was all scars and skin grafts? What if she started heaving?
The black bandages were forming a heap on the floor by his feet. Standing there in the soft light of her room, he looked for all the world like a serpent wriggling free of its shedding skin. She watched as he unfastened the straps around his face. Time to brace herself. What was it her friend told her? All open ulcers and pustulous sores?
A length of leather slid silently onto the carpetted ground. Corrine gasped in amazement, her heart leaping into her mouth.
"My God! Your face - !"
Thin, almost cruel lips wore an uneven, crocodile smile. "My secret. Our secret."
Starsmore padded towards her, his movements slow, predatory. Mesmerised, the Goth-girl could only whimper as he allowed his fingers to slide down her shoulders. Flesh rippled beneath his ice-touch, shivering with anticipation. Hands moved down her body, pulling her closer to his half-naked torso and sliding her clothing away from her throat.
"Beautiful," he was murmering, his lips brushing her smooth, white neck.
Corrine closed her eyes and basked in the sensation of his teeth nibbling at her skin. "Not so rough, Jonothon," she winced as he bit harder.
His only response was to sink his impossibly sharp teeth deeper into her throat. Corrine shrieked with horror and tried to wrench herself free of his grasp. Bleeding - her life-fluid pumping out of the ugly great laceration to her jugular. Starsmore's mouth bridged the wound, choking and spluttering on the iron-flavoured liquid as it spurted onto the back of his tongue. Becoming too weak to fight back ... fainting from blood-loss and shock ... . The girl's body became a limp rag-doll in his arms.
Feeding, sucking away until the colour drained from her pale face. Starsmore licked his crimson lips and let her exsanguinated corpse drop to the floor.
"Not bad," the virgin vampire declared, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with the edge of her duvet cover. "But a bit too much tequila for my liking. Can't stomach the stuff after that night in Brighton ... ."
He stepped over her dessicated remains and peered out of the window. Down below, a familiar group of young people were getting out of a van, their laughter twisting through the night. Starsmore gave a wolfish grin as he let the curtain fall back in place.
"Scarred? Bitch, I'll show you scarred ... "