Mythic

Nicholas Sutton despised the few times when he was slow to identify anything in his path, the result of a distraction. He overheard a struggle, followed by silence and then once again striking, sharp metal. Only this struggle was not among humans.

Humans were betrayed by their fear, their screams. The way their hearts raced with increased adrenaline gave them away, making them such simple prey. To taste them during their rush was enough to drive even the most regimented of his kind over the edge. But the presence he sensed tracking him in the night, possessed a charismatic strength. One he couldn’t place, its source a mystery.

Imagine being in London a few hours and attracting such an audience. The vampire laughed at the thought when he was spotted. Once again the same headlights appeared, gaining speed. Increasing his own pace, he made a sharp right turn. Since the streets were dark and misty, combined with his celerity, he was sure they didn’t see his maneuvering. Yes, he was proud of himself and the gift of unnatural speed. He owned it.

Without warning, swift darkness startled him. Nicholas had little time to react. He was cornered by the loud screech of a black Maserati, headlights off. The lightless vehicle spun to face the opposite direction from where it came, missing Nicholas’s legs by mere inches. He was caught. Game over. Its revving engine faded to a soft purr as the tinted passenger side window lowered and a woman’s voice commanded, “Get in.”