Portland, Oregon - 2012
The heels of her boots clicked with every strike against the cold, soaked cement. The dank, night air crept in through her thin sweater. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to keep up with his pace. She rounded the corner, staying across the street from him. She tried not to let him get too far ahead of her. His outdated pleather jacket made it easy to keep him in her sights. No one but an immortal would be wearing pleather. She never would have noticed it before, but diversions were a necessity and fashion seemed like a reasonable one.
He turned down a dark alley. She grimaced and wondered if perhaps he looked for his next victim. He never looked behind himself. He was overconfident. They always were. His kind always believed they were the strongest animals in the urban jungle. His instincts lied to him and allowed for a false sense of security. He just didn't know it yet.
She fingered the platinum ring on her right middle finger with her thumb. The small band had a thin red line running through the middle of it. On the under side of the ring, sat a red rose. The ring was her mark. It was her badge. It permitted her to follow the man. It made her brand of deadly force acceptable.
She winked her right eye, flashing in front of him.
She lifted him into the air, before he had a chance to change into a worthy adversary. She gasped when her bare hands made contact with the warm, fleshy meat of his throat and the spark started to fill her. The touch of his skin made every moment magnify, as her senses heightened from the feast. He choked and fought, but it was useless.
His eyes shot to the ring on her finger, and recognition and fear spread across his face.
"You're a Rose."
His last words.
Eager for her meal, she shivered in anticipation. The satisfaction filled her like a rich chocolate bar, melting into her taste buds. It sent chills through her arms, where the fire soothed her hunger.
“Stop!” A man's voice echoed through the alley.
The spark of the fire died, taking her meal with it.
She dropped the dead man to the cold ground and the tingle stopped. She didn’t like ending her meal that way. She licked her lips, wondering if her eyes still glowed like molten steel from her feast. She looked down the alley to where a policeman stood with his gun drawn. She observed the way his hands shook with the sizable gun in them. She smirked, knowing it was from lack of confidence. He was clearly new to the force. She knew the feeling.
“Stay where you are.” His voice never wavered, but she could sense the fear coming off him. It was a scent that rode on the wind, as if searching out her nose. His voice was familiar.
Panic filled her. She knew him.
He squinted, no doubt from the confusion of her still-glowing eyes and the possibility that he recognized her too.
She smiled, raising her hands. “Run his prints and you’ll thank me.” He wasn’t an innocent. The Roses did have rules about that sort of thing.
He walked toward her cautiously as he assessed the alley and the danger. “Get down on the ground.”
She shook her head. “Really, would you lie on this street? This alley is filthy with germs and God only knows what else.”
A gust of wind blew past him, bringing with it a scent of laundry soap and deodorant with a subtle mix of windblown sea air. She would know that smell anywhere. She looked around for an exit beyond her usual one. She couldn't just vanish in front of him.
His smell was the soundtrack to her youth and innocence. His was the only true love she had ever known.
His face started to light up as his feet brought him closer. She felt the air suck from her body as he stood under the lone streetlight in the alley, which clearly the city's budget had forgotten.
She gulped, pushing down her feelings. She felt frozen in panic, but also desperate to see him. Just one glance of him would fill her for the next hundred years.
He looked at her and frowned in disbelief, as he drew close enough to fully recognize her. “You—you’re the one? That's not possible.”
She could see the raw emotion on his face. His lower lip trembled, no doubt followed by his entire body.
She took a step back, putting her hands out. “Just pretend you never saw me. The medics will say heart attack.”
He shook his head. “No, not you.” His face twisted in pain. “Anyone but you. Why?”
She blinked as she remembered every second of their time together. She crammed it into a memory slot.
Every touch.
Every smile.
They had become her playlist when the burn in her chest grew unbearable. Only those little moments could sooth her.
She couldn’t avoid the sharp breath that left her mouth. She winced as she turned her heart off, and let the flat words leave her lips. “I have to eat—they make sense.”
He looked sickened. “You’re eating them? How? They have no marks. None of the others had marks.”
She let the moment of shame fill her. She deserved to suffer.
She wanted to explain. She wanted to be that girl—his girl. She wanted to be sitting on the back steps of his house, listening to his dreams. Instead she turned, jumping onto the handrail of the stairs next to her, and climbed the fire escape.
She ran up the stairs before he could register she had left. She could still smell his fear, but it had switched. It was a different kind of fear. The kind that broke her already-tattered and abused heart. His fear of losing her again filled the air with his screams. She felt the tears rolling as she listened to him shout her name, but she never stopped. She ran to the top of the building, desperate to get away.
His screams filled the night. "AIMEE!"