The hunger is my shadow.

It stalks me relentlessly, always at my heels, always right behind me. It is a dragging force of utter need, a craving that can never be satiated, only momentarily alleviated. And if I neglect it, it grows, until it becomes a beast.

Tonight, I set out to feed the beast.

Colorful lights cascade from above, reflected off the polished décor and scattering through wafts of smoke. The music is loud, too loud for my taste, but tonight I am content that my ears are filled with that loud hum that drowns out the noise of the crowd around me, and the whispers of the beast.

I have taken up a spot at the bar and ordered a glass of whiskey, but it's merely a prop for my little charade. I put the glass to my lips as I scan the dance floor.

Mediocre. Mundane. Middle-class merriment, fueled by various intoxicating substances.

Alors on danse.

I glance over the crowd until someone catches my eye.

Even under the fractured lights, I can see that her curly, shoulder-length hair is dyed blue, but that's not why she stands out. She moves differently than the others, with more vigor and enthusiasm. She doesn't dance to lose herself, to forget. She dances for the dancing itself. I am intrigued.

I watch her for a while. She is tall, her black dress short. It clings to her body in all the right ways. Probably only some sort of obscure, feminine magic prevents her underwear from showing. She is tantalizing, and the way she moves tells me that she knows it.

She spins and sways her body to the music, until suddenly, she turns around and our gazes meet.

I don't look away. I give her a brief smile, before I redirect my attention to my whiskey. And I wait.

"You've been watching me the entire evening," she says with a smirk, as she comes to me half an hour later, like I knew she would. "why don't you come and dance with me?"

"I didn't come here to dance. Why don't you sit down and have a drink with me?"

From up close, I notice the roots of her dyed hair are of a mousy brown. But her eyes are naturally striking, bright blue, accentuated by heavy black makeup on her tawny skin, and alit with a spark of mischief as she grins at me.

"Well, I didn't come here to drink," she scoffs. "But how about you dance with me, and then I'll have a drink with you?"

I smile back at her. With one gulp, I down the rest of the Whiskey and let her drag me off to the dance floor.

She moves against my body in a way that could drive any man crazy. I might quite enjoy it if I wasn't so hungry – and not with the kind of hunger she is probably hoping to evoke in me. But she is definitely good at this. Good at being a bad girl.

I put my hands on her swaying hips, stopping her movements. Moving one hand to the small of her back, I pull her closer, and place the other at the side of her neck, caressing my thumb over her jawline and her larynx.

It's a delicate neck. Easy to wring, easy to snap. I'll have to be careful with her, or the fun won't last long.

I feel her swallow under my touch, her eyelids flutter. Her hands snake up over my chest and to the back of my neck, curling into my hair. She becomes mellow under my touch, leaning against me for support. I feel her heartbeat, it reverberates through my body even stronger than the bass.

Slowly, I lean forward and let my breath fan over her skin, close to her ear, and I feel her shudder in my arms. A sigh escapes her that turns into a soft moan as I brush my lips over the delicate skin under her jaw.

Just a taste, and already I know she will be delicious.

I can hear her heartbeat quicken as I whisper, "Why don't we take this somewhere more private?"

"I... I think you owe me a drink," she replies breathlessly.

I smile against her skin. I'm in no hurry. I still have the whole night to look forward to.

~ ~ ~

Over the years, I have learned two important lessons.

Don't bring them home. And don't be sloppy.

So I ponder the best way to go about it as she stumbles out of the club at my side. I didn't intend to get her quite so drunk, it will only makes this harder. It's worse when they're drunk. Some even start to cry. It's quite irritating.

"Can we go to your place?" she asks in a slurred voice, looking up at me through heavy lashes.

I hesitate for a moment, and she hums pensively.

"Never mind," she says before I can reply. "My place, then. Come!"

She grabs my hand and for the second time this evening, I let her drag me along, smiling to myself. The truly fun part of the night is just about to start.

I know the corner of town she is taking me to, I've been here before. But it doesn't matter. I have learned to hide my traces. Two- to four story houses, nestled tightly against each other, line the streets. Old buildings with thick brick walls. Fairly soundproof. This couldn't be better.

Up a short flight of stairs, she fumbles for her keys. With a precision that seems uncanny for the drunken state she's in, she unlocks the door on the first attempt. Inside, I let her push me against the wall to capture my lips in a frenzied kiss.

I allow her this illusion of control, and she revels in it.

She pushes my jacket off my shoulders and pulls me onward, practically tearing of my shirt in the process. She drags me through the living room, past a comfortable looking couch, its feet planted on a fluffy, dark carpet before a small fireplace. A hint of a heavy, flowery scent is upon the air. It seems oddly familiar, but I can't quite place it.

The iron-wrought frame of her bed creaks as she pushes me down on the dark sheets. She climbs on my lap, straddling me, but I grab her shoulders and roll her over with ease. Her scent is everywhere, a mixture of bergamot and something heavy that reminds me of frankincense.

"Wait," she whispers.

I stop, fangs mere inches from her skin, not even really knowing why. I can feel her heat, her life, pounding underneath that thin membrane. The beast is raging within me.

"Uhm... I just..." she mumbles something under her breath, about 'protection'.

I chuckle as I pull back slightly to look down at her, all flustered and out of breath. She really is quite pretty. I wonder if it might be worth to postpone my meal a bit. The beast tells me no. But there is something alluring about the heat that emanates from her body, causing something to stir something within me. Hunger for her flesh, not her blood.

I wonder if she'd survive. I decide I'm willing to risk it.

"Well?" I look at her, cocking a brow in expectation.

She stares up at me for a long moment with those blue eyes, and then scrambles out from underneath me to rummage in the drawer of the bedside table.

"You know, when I first saw you, I already knew this would be good," she says.

"Funny," I muse. "I just had a similar thought."

She turns around again and looks at me, her mirth replaced by something sinister. Her eyes are dark now, the blackness of her widened pupils has swallowed all the blue, and for a moment, I see something small and silver glistening around her neck that wasn't there before, and something large and silver in her hands –

"But all good things must come to an end."

The last thing I feel is a sharp, searing pain tearing through my chest.

~ ~ ~

"So we really cannot use him?"

I recognize the voice. Gone is her seductive slur, replaced by agitation and annoyance.

"No, I will not go out to obtain another. What is the problem with this one?"

An unbearable pain that I haven't felt in decades spreads through my body, and yet I am numb, paralyzed. I force my eyes open. I barely manage to move my head. Glancing down, I understand. A dagger, right through my heart, keeping me paralyzed.

I groan as I turn my head further, until I spot the girl.

She cowers before the fireplace that is alit by a strange blue glow, and converses with someone. No, something. Something within the unnaturally blue flames.

If I was still breathing, a gasp of surprise would have escaped me.

She must have heard something, because she whirls around, blue curls bouncing, and fixes me with her gaze, her eyes now black as two pieces of coal. For a brief moment I catch a glimpse of what lies within the flames, and I curse under my breath.

"Foolish girl," the demon bellows from behind her, now loud enough that I can hear him across the room. "Don't you see? Don't you understand?"

"He isn't dead?!"

She gets up and walks over to me. I lie on the floor, on the soft carpet of her living room. Her shoes take up my field of view, until she bends down and scrutinizes my face, fixing me with an infinitely dark gaze. I snarl at the strange sensation it evokes in me.

My fangs are still out, and a look of recognition washes over her features.

"We cannot take this one's soul," the demon growls, "because he doesn't have one."

"Oh, bloody hell."

I would have laughed if I wasn't in such an uncomfortable position. So she planned to murder a mortal, coincidentally in the only way that would manage to incapacitate me. She staked me by accident.

She sighs as she lowers herself on her knees next to me.

"Well. This sucks." She eyes me pensively.

"Considering what I am," I whisper hoarsely. "Sucking is kind of my deal."

She rolls her eyes.

"Alright. So the old man doesn't want you. Fair enough. But you're still at my mercy," she says and smiles that little devious smile again. "So what am I to do with you?"

"You could let me go?"

I sniffle, trying to discern her scent. She's clearly not one of us, nor one of Daqhia's children , I would have picked up that scent right away, and she wouldn't have been surprised by my true nature. She doesn't have the grace and beauty of the faefolk, as unlikely as it would be to encounter one in this city anyway.

She smells perfectly mortal. And yet, underneath the bergamot and incense, I notice something sharp, like sulfur and hot iron, but not as harsh and unpleasant as a demon. Still, she converses with one, so she must have a pact with him. The blackness of her eyes is another indication - that's probably where he resides when he is with her, and not hanging out in the fireplace.

Given my current disposition, I decide to avoid offending the girl through assuming what else she could be.

"I won't hold a grudge," I say sweetly. "What's a little staking between supernaturals?"

She raises her eyebrows at the word, and then smiles wryly.

She is human, I finally realize. Just a foolish mortal bargaining with a demon. He asked her to bring him a soul in exchange for something. But her eyes...

"I can't let you go," she finally says, "I still need help."

"Now why would I help you?" I grumble with growing impatience.

"First of all, because I staked you and you're at my mercy. But I think we might be able to strike a deal that's beneficial for both of us."

"A deal? The Lord of Darkness has already granted me eternal youth and mesmerizing beauty," I snarl.

"For the modest price of a soul..." she mutters.

"I have the strength of ten men, I have the power to subject others to my will, I am immortal! I am a supreme supernatural being!"

"And oh so modest." She rolls her eyes.

"What on earth could a little human girl like you possibly offer me?"

She grins again, and with a swift motion, she pulls the dagger from my chest. Immediately, I feel the paralysis melt away. The pain is still there, but I can move again. Anger and intense hunger dull the ache from the bloodless hollow in my chest. In an instant, I am on my feet and pounce at her. She steps back, and just before I can grab a hold of her, I slam into an invisible wall.

Her grin widens as I stumble back with a groan of pain. I recognize the feeling, that invisible but tangible force field that surrounds me, although I haven't encountered it in well over a hundred years.

"I didn't expect the night to take this particular turn," she muses, "but I'm always prepared for the worst."

Slowly, I lower my gaze to the floor, where the carpet has shifted under my movement to reveal a circle of runes, drawn with white chalk on the floorboards. A look at the ceiling and I spot its counterpart above my head.

A trap.

Finally I recognize that scent, faint but heavy like velvet upon the air, surrounding her like a protective cloak. The symbol on the pendant around her neck. What she truly is.

She giggles at the flood of curses that flows from my lips.

"You ask what I can offer you beyond what you already have," she says. "Well. You have made a deal with the devil before, vampire."

She saunters over to the couch and plops down, crossing her slender legs and looking down at me as I lay crouched at her feet like some sort of animal. The demonic flames still cackle in the fireplace, and from within a pair of glowing eyes like levitating hot coals regards me. As if her own blue eyes had decided to take up residence among the flame instead of in her head. But the intensity of the demonic glare pales against the tenebrous stare she gives me. Her lips curl upward in a smile that does nothing to soften the threat in her expression.

"But have you ever made a deal with a witch?"

____

Word Count: 2415

Some of you might recognize this from a short story I wrote last year. Already back then I kinda grew fond of these two characters so much that I thought I should give them a proper story. After a long creative "drought" period, just around the time when the ONC was announced, they came to live within my head once more and started pestering me. So I scanned the prompts for any ideas for what I could give them to do. I decided to go with two prompts that immediately inspired their backstories:

Prompt 26: Every time she lights a match, she escapes into a new world

Prompt 42: You sold your soul to the devil years ago. Today, he gives it back to you and says "I need a favour"

This time, the story won't be as headache inducing as my last ONC entry, promise ^^ It's just a fun little exercise to get my writing game back on. Plus, I have yet to see if I'm even allowed to use this, because it already existed as a short story beforehand... Either way, I'm gonna write their story, because our lovely two protagonists probably won't stop annoying me otherwise!