The Blood Mistake

Midnight was approaching as she made her way into the club. People that society would have scorned, her people, were lined up outside to get in. A literal sea of black and leather, dyed hair and chains.
She got in place, cash in hand, as the line moved forward. When it was her turn, the bouncer carded her, put the paper bracelet on her wrist, and ushered her in. She went into the dark smoky haze, making her way up a set of plush red and black carpeted stairs that vibrated with the industrial music coming from the second floor.
She reached the top, passed a couple of bars and went into the main danceroom. Sure enough, the usual crowd was there. Half were dancing to the techno metal that was blaring deafeningly out of the speakers, the rest were enjoying drinks by the bar. One group of four were playing team pool in the corner, not doing well but enjoying themselves all the same.
She walked up to the bar herself. Teia, the barmaid, was already busy pouring drinks even though they'd been open less than twenty minutes. She noticed her and gave her a smile and a nod. She came over to her and smiled again.
"What can I getcha?" she asked, hand on her hip and the other already reaching for the first liqour that went into the girl's usual.
"What I always get. Vampire's Kiss."
Teia finished mixing the liquors and juice, stuck in a straw, and handed her the glass. She took it, and took a small sip. She sighed as the sweet taste rolled down her throat. She grinned at Teia and handed her a ten, for a drink that normally cost four.
"You always make it best, Teia. Keep the change."
Teia nodded, and stuck the change in her tip pile by the register. The she went back to bustling about the bar and pouring every drink imaginable.
She took the iced drink and made her way over towards the dance floor. She stood on the edge and watched the crowd dance, each person in their own individual world. This was why she came here. The atmosphere and music allowed her to be herself, and to get rid of the stress that life in general could sometimes pour in torrents.
She sipped the drink slowly, enjoying it. By the time the liquid reached the bottom of the glass, she was swaying to the music. Setting the glass down, she pulled out a clove cigarette and lit it. Inhaling deeply, she made her way onto the dancefloor and began to let loose.
She flung her arms about in graceful circles and her feet slowly stepped around to the beat of the music. She kept her eyes closed, enjoying the little world her mind created. In the slow moments of the songs, she inhaled the clove. Soon, the stresses of that day were gone like dust in the wind.
Eventually, she made her way back to the edge of the floor. She went over to the pool table and knocked a couple of games in with people willing to split the quarters. She won, she always did. She'd been playing pool since gods knew when.
When the games were finished, she turned to go back to the dancefloor. There were people up on the pedestals now, dancing to the music. Some were comical, they looked like defunctioning robots, but there was one that caught her eye.
She had never learned his name. She only knew what he looked like and that he danced here every night the club was open. And he always danced atop the pedestal.
He was tall, and pale, as many of the people there were. But for some reason he seemed an exception. His icy paleness only attracted her more. He always wore black, whether it was leather or not. At the moment, he was wearing black leather pants, heavy leather boots, and an unbottoned shirt than showed off his even paler chest and stomach. His stomach was fit; even though he was almost anorexically thin, you could see the bulges of muscle beneath the skin. And the way his long black hair and silky black shirt hung from his shoulders and swayed with his dancing, he was a sight to behold.
Of course, she had never talked to him, even thought about it much at all. She only enjoyed watching him dance.
She lit another clove, and went back out onto the floor. Soon she was once again emmersed, eyes closed, arms dancing, feet tipping back and forth.

From the top of the pedestal, Lanyk watched the crowd around him. From this mass he had to find his meal.
His blood. His kill.
He always chose from among this group. They always gave him the greatest rush. They who pent up their emotions in an attempt to release them. The blood from their veins was always sweeter.
As he danced to the the heavy beats, he found he related to his prey somewhat. This futuristic music helped him to ease his centuries of pain and torment. But at the moment, he didn't want to relate to any of them. Only to use them.
One thing he still held true to, his self-made rule to never kill his prey. The only ones he drained were those he could tell would be better off dead. Truly sick minds, or truly evil ones.
As he looked around, swinging his arms in measure to the music. Ha. He had the club comepletely fooled. They had no idea what he was, even employed him as a dancer. He even inflicted the pain and bleeding wounds on the clubs once a month fetish night, where pain-lovers of both ends came to fulfill their wants. He remembered the last one. A young girl, dressed in black, wearing a bodice that bared her back. He had flogged her with his cat-o-nine tails whip, drawing bleeding welts across the flawless white skinned back. Oh, how tempted he had been when the blood had welled up and run in rivulets to the floor. He had cornered her later that night, and cleaned the wounds for her with his tongue. Her blood had been by far the sweetest and most aphrodisial of them all. He had never seen her again.
As he continued to dance and observe, he noticed a girl. The first thing her saw was her hair, thick, dark, and waved as she danced back and forth. Belled black skirt, and a black fishnet shirt covered by a thin silk corset tied to the limit. She danced by herself, eyes closed, the red light of a cigarette shining from her hand.
As she turned in her dance, he saw her face, powdered white, blood red lips, blackened eyes, and a thin pale neck worthy of his fangs. He smiled as he continued dancing. He had found his prey. And beautiful prey at that. This night would be one to remember. He grinned wider, his fangs visible. He didn't care. Half the people in here had the fake canines in their own mouth. His would not be noticed.

Finally, the music ended. The lights came on and the bouncers came in, ushering those left to get out. Lanyk jumped down from the pedestal and headed towards the door. His girl was one of the last, one hand holding liquor, two of the fingers clutching a black cigarette. Good. She was intoxicated, however slightly. A bonus for him.
The crowd went outside, he followed the familiar deep brown hair towards the unlit parking lot. Hers was one of the last vehicles left. It was alone and near a copse of trees. Even better for him.
She got to her car, and made to unlock the doors. He silently stepped closer, stepping between her and the door. She looked up and gasped, and Lanyk was surprised the see the glimmer of recognition in her eyes.
Quickly, and to distract her, he lifted her hand, took a drag of her clove. Her eyes were now less widened. Again, to distract her, he bent and took a sip from her drink. A Vampire's Kiss. *How ironic* he thought to himself. He bent down towards her. She took a step back, a look of fear now in her eyes. But he reached up and grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her towards him. He kissed her, and pushed her lips apart, and when they did, he let the alcahol flow from his mouth to hers.
She involuntarily swallowed. What the hell? Why had he taken such sudden interest? Before she could think, he had dropped the glass, thrown the cigarette into the dirt and, hands on her shoulders, forced her back into the shadows of the trees by her car. She did not resist.
He smiled as he delved in for a kiss. She returned it, and for a moment Lanyk felt guilty for using her, but soon the bloodlust clouded his mind. He gripped her wrists together with one hand, forced them behind her back. She was obviously submissive, for any other girl would have out up more of a fight. He leaned her against the trunk of the tree, effectively pinning her hands there without needing to use his own. He kissed her again, caressing her face with his pearlescent nails. Then, gripping her chin, he forced her head up, exposing her pale neck. With a pleasurable hiss, he dove in and his fangs peirced the skin and vein.
She made a slight screaming sound; he reached up and muffled it with his hand, she began to struggle, but as he drank the sweetest blood he had ever found, she began to go limp.
As he drank, her memories and past all flashed in Lanyk's mind. He recognized her childhood, similar to his own, dead parents, bad life, nothing but hurt and pain despite her tries to be perfect. The sorrow felt, the endured scorn, the reasons for the deep scars on the wrists he now held immobile.
With a jerk, he realized he had to let go. The bloodlust spurred him on. *drink, drink, drink!!* Lanyk fought it. He could not harm an innocent. He pulled back with a hissing gasp, his lips and chin covered in crimson blood. He let go of the girl he held. She immediatly went limp and began to fall to the ground. He grabbed for her and heaved her back up.
He looked at the girl lying unconcious in his arms. Blood was coming from the wound at her neck, her breathing becoming more and more shallow. Her already pale skin was white, and her skin was becoming cold to the touch.
He had drunk more than he meant to. In his lust he had not gauged the amount he had taken.
Good gods, what had he done?