It must be Goth night. Dark clothing, metal glinting on crests, the sea waves beneath the violet fog. Within the swelling darkness, a couple stands out like a beacon with their neon bracelets and preppy clothes glowing in the black light. They appear to be enjoying themselves dancing to the thunder.

Club Necropolis sells vampire lore feeding the addiction for an escape from dreary lives. Some gawk at the show, and others revel in the fantasy like the Goth girls and boys. Rumors claim vampires run the club, but true believers know better. Itoril hide behind the legend.

I love Goth night, the thrill of the dance and inspiring fantasies.

Listening to the electronic beat, I stride onto the dance floor, my crimson dress piercing the dark sea. The stomping groove climbs my legs. The moist air kisses my face and caresses my bare arms. I inhale the liquor, the sweat, the perfume, and spin around losing myself to it all.

The vocalist on the stage describes the end of times; the dead rising from the flames of life to rule the world. Beautiful poetry.

Squeezing against writhing bodies, I groove my way to the center of the storm. My slinking hips break the current, and my breasts brush warm bodies electrifying men, their excitement spilling into the air.

Running my hand from firm chest to soft backside, I sample the selection as forbidden thoughts dance in my head. The risk of getting caught doing naughty things electrifies my flesh. Trying my best innocent expression, I offer a young woman a reassuring smile. Spotting a scratch on her arm, a love slice, I breathe in the intoxicating sweetness and find my tongue running over my lips. The woman’s face sours. I move on.

Following a new current, I come face-to-face with a big, stupid grin; innocence. The man tugs the collar of his white shirt glowing purple in the black light. Neon bracelets slide down his arm. His eyes feast on my exposed cleavage, and his date scowls at him.

A beacon in the night.

Taking the lead, I clasp the young woman’s arm and pull her close. Surprise melts onto her face. As her gaze meets mine, her expression softens. She dances, but her body defies the beat. Slipping my right leg between her soft thighs and grasping her waist, I hold her against me. Her lavender scented hair tickles my nose. Melting into the groove, I work her hips into motion as I slide my hands up her sides guiding her into the dance. I stroke her arms up over head and lean in close, my lips grazing her cheek. Shivers cascade against me. She finds the groove.

Glancing to the side, I spy her man watching us. Excitement bursts across his face, and his scent soils the air. I never understand, but men love watching me seduce their girlfriends. It almost spoils the challenge.

Feeling the woman’s heart pounding against me, chills erupt on my flesh. A crash of drums sends a shiver down my spine. The thrill of getting caught overcomes me. I push my fingers through the woman’s hair, lavender rising. Keeping the beat, swooning to the groove, I brush my lips against her neck. Her gasping breath tickles my ear. Just a nibble, a taste is all I need.

Biting down, I release my poison into her vein freezing her in place. And then it comes. Heat floods inside, sweet nectar of life brightening the darkness within. Just a taste! I pull back, blood splashing my chin. Spotting the red oozing down her breast, disappearing beneath blouse, I dive in slurping the wound. I work my way down lapping my treat from the young woman’s chest.

Rolling my head to the side, I search the crowd. None of the them notice. No gaze crosses mine, except for one. The boyfriend’s bewildered expression twists into fear.

Instincts on fire, I work fast blurring time in on itself, sound fading into the background. Clenching the man’s arm, I tug. His body slams against mine, and the dazed woman tumbles over. Music returns in a crash. The man’s arm grows tense and jerks within my grasp. I lock his arm under mine and twist his lower arm against his elbow. A howl and his body slackens. I bite down on his wrist.

As the cool toxins flow out, warmth floods inside. I nearly choke on the rush, blood spitting onto my hands. Squeezing the arm tight, I control the flow drinking him in. The heat pulsing inside me weakens my legs, and I lean against him reveling in the glow.

The crowd chants. Out of the corner of vision, I see their shadowy shapes writhing about, their fists pumping in the air. They cheer. As the music builds into a torrent, the howls grow louder, and fists pump faster. A tear blurs them into a monster splashing out of the dark sea.

The thrill washes away twisting my insides into knots. A coolness slicks over my forehead and saturates my hair. My secret is no more. As I contemplate my misstep in the dance, I continue drinking, no longer caring about the mess sliding down my arm and dripping onto my leg.

My sin pools on the floor between my black flats. The crowd cheers on.

I try to pull away to meet the terrible faces, but the weight of it all holds me down. Embarrassment, regret, but most of all, blood holds me prisoner. Stop before this man surrenders his life to me. The howling grows in my ears sickening my insides.

Breaking free, I cry out spitting blood.

Looking around, I find the faces gazing up at the stage where the vocalist pronounces his love for the dead. Pumping their fists, the crowd cheers the music on. At the center of the dark storm, the preppy woman stands beside her man. Both of them appear intoxicated, oblivious of the crimson trail on the man’s arm dripping onto the floor.

Lifting my dress, I wipe the blood from my face as a look around at all their faces. Tingles race over my arms. Relief. Cold descends and sparks inside. A piece of me, down in my gut, wishes one of them would witness my mess.

Thrill waning, I slink through the dark sea, my crimson dress flowing about me.

The pattering rain welcomed Kandy rising from the depths of her home. As she climbed the stairs, feet padding the warm carpet, the scent of the rain carrying a hint of evergreens invited her to the window of the empty bedroom on the second floor. Gazing through her naked reflection, she spotted the silky strands streaming from the clouds lit by Roseland nestled in the valley below, soft glow like moonlight on a pond. The cool glass met her bare shoulder and breast, tingles racing down her flesh.

Gazing over her neighbor’s home, through the tops of the evergreens, she imagined the three million  beating hearts, some slowing to the call of sleep and others thumping to the dance of lust. A few drummed the final stanza of life. Within the rain, moist evergreens, she could nearly taste the blood.

Somewhere down there within the chorus, creeping in the shadows, a quiet heart danced to a different song. He had returned with a new name and the empty head of a child. Only he learned quick and remembered tomorrow like a lingering rain. And he walked within the darkness, a ghost crossing from the other side.

Sometimes the dead forgot their place and needed reminding.

Stepping back from the window, Kandy gazed at her pale reflection. Her breasts sagged. Strands of white disrupted the smooth flow of her raven hair. Nothing blood couldn’t fix.

Maybe his blood. What did the blood of a ghost taste like? She imagined it sweet with the vitality of youth and sharp with age. Drinking from the dead was like consuming poison, but he was no longer dead. Not a ghost. Steve Reynolds was something else entirely. Blood surged through him, a fire raging out from his quiet heart, the eye of a storm.

Kandy imagined feeding on his fire turning her flesh radiant, her eyes smoldering. And when she drank his husk dry, she would dance a storm righting the world. The dead stayed dead. She would make certain of that. The fleeting lives of Roseland would remain the kindling for her fire.

“Oh, lover of mine,” she said, whispering. She licked her lips tasting death. “Dance with me one last time.”