A Love for All Nights

The blood flowed like honey, thick and sweet, as it slid down Carson’s throat. When he had first been changed, he had abhorred the idea of drinking blood from someone. Now it was second nature, a necessity, one which he enjoyed. Pulling his fangs from the woman’s neck, he licked her wounds, closing them. She was a pretty morsel, blonde haired and blue eyed, like a little china doll. He couldn’t remember her name, only that she had been all too willing to follow him. Had she realized that he had something other than a night of passionate, sweaty sex in mind, she would have run the other way. Thankfully, vampires were still just a thing of legend, of nightmares and horror movies.
As Carson sent the woman on her way, with the thought that she hadn’t left the bar with him, had simply gone for a walk by herself, he turned and headed down the street. It was almost Halloween. The shops were filled with costumes, candy, and decorations. If only the stupid humans realized that a good portion of what they pretended to be one night out of the year truly existed, things would certainly change. No longer would people idolize werewolves, vampires, ghosts, and demons. No, instead they would run from them, just as his victim’s would run if he didn’t have the power to plant suggestions in their sponge-like minds.
Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he strolled down the streets, cloaked in fog and darkness. His blond hair shone brightly under the street lamps, his pale features like a beacon in the night. His blue eyes scanned the darkness. Having fed, he needn’t search for prey any longer, but he did need to be certain he didn’t become prey. While the humans typically let vampires remain in the world of make-believe, there were a select few who knew of their existence… the hunters. Carson hadn’t seen a hunter in a decade or more, but he knew they were still out there, still hunting, trying to rid the earth of monsters like him; except he didn’t feel like a monster. Yet, he didn’t exactly feel like a man anymore either. He wasn’t quite certain what category he fit into these days.
Carson has been turned when he was thirty years old. The year had been 1940 and it had been a cold December night. During 1940, Gone with the Wind had debuted in theaters; the Pennsylvania Turnpike had opened - the first of its kind; John Steinbeck had been awarded a Pulitzer for The Grapes of Wrath; and the first social security checks had been mailed in January of that year. All in all, it had been a year of change, especially after surviving the Great Depression in the 1930’s, but nothing compared to the changes that had occurred since that time. Things today were so much faster, brighter, and harder. Sex was sold on every corner, not literally – well, sometimes it was literal, but sex was openly displayed on television, in movies, on the radio, on t-shirts… it was all around him.
Lost in another time, Carson almost didn’t see the young woman walking toward him. At the last minute, he was able to avoid a head-on collision. She was as lost in her own thoughts as he had been in his. He breathed in her scent and his eyes widened in shock and recognition. She was his. His perfect match. His salvation.