Vincent drew in a deep breath of midnight air, holding in the breath and feeling the chill on his lungs. His dark purple irises disappeared behind dilated pupils to drink in the rich fullness of the darkness. The moon's light was dancing seductively on the patches of unmelted snow, and Vincent was pleased by it.
He exhaled slowly, savoring the cold sensation as it moved from his lungs through his nostrils and appeared as haze before him. The night was perfect. He checked his pocket watch; a gold Moreddelle that was at least 200 years old. It was no doubt priceless, as only six of its kind existed on earth. He had purchased it from an old lady who only wanted food in return. Vincent doubted she knew its true value, so he left her with a handful of cash and a small loaf of bread.
It was 10: 43 p.m. Any moment now she would be arriving, her blond hair twisting in the wind, eyes green and bright as fairy fire, her flesh alive with pink tones, health and life.
His sensitive ears picked up the sound of high heels as they clicked on the chilled pavement. He turned in the direction of the sound and his eyes immediately drew tight from the sting of the lamplight. Cursing, he turned and with his right hand drew out his dark mirrored sunglasses from the inner pocket of his London Fog trenchcoat. He opened them with long, slender fingers and put them over his sensitive eyes.
The clicking sound grew louder, and Vincent saw her as she turned the corner onto Madison Avenue. She wore a knee-length, red woolen coat with an open v-collar, a black silk blouse beneath, and a tight black skirt several inches above her knee. Her face was cheery: she wore deep red lipstick and brown eye shadow, accented by a light rouge on her high cheekbones. Vincent was sure that her natural glow would have blessed her looks better on this cold December night.
As she drew closer, Vincent smiled warmly, conscious of his incisors protruding his lower lip, but his mannerism hid their fierceness. Smiling, she approached him, her green eyes dancing. He stretched out his hand and she accepted it, trying in vain to see his eyes behind the sunglasses. With perfect charm, Vincent removed the glasses, looked deeply into her eyes, and bowed to bestow a gentlemanly kiss to her hand.
Her expression betrayed her. She would not be resisting his charms tonight. Her lids were low and her eyes brightened by his masculine charm and her own desire, her lashes almost brushing her rosy cheeks, her lips parted only slightly, yet Vincent knew she was moved by his deep purple eyes.
"Good evening, Miss Blackwell," Vincent said in a strong British accent. At the sound of his voice, her eyes fluttered open, and her lips closed so tightly it appeared as if she were preparing for a kiss. She tried to gain control of herself, for she was not usually so shaken meeting a person.
Vincent could feel the desire as it escaped from her flesh and disappeared into the cold night air. He smiled to himself contentedly and she followed his lead, smiling broadly and trying not to blush.
"It's a bit cold out here," Vincent spoke. "Perhaps we should go for a cup of coffee and get acquainted before we discuss business."
Miss Blackwell nodded shyly and followed Vincent into a 24-hour coffee shop across the street. The air was deliciously scented with coffees from around the world, and they both inhaled deeply to savor the aroma. Vincent led her to a table near the back and looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to become more comfortable so he could learn why she so desperately needed his services.
- End of Part One -
To be continued by YOU ...
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.