His eyes, damn it, how important his eyes are to me! The bottomless expanse of the abyss of hell. A promise of danger greater than I can endure. His love was all I ever wanted to know.

  And how mad I was at him!

  So mad that I hated him!

  That hatred left bleeding cuts, and I guess that's exactly what he wanted. To mix love and hate in one cocktail. In one double-edged blade that would be destined to rip my soul.

  Once I'd done that to myself, I couldn't leave that weapon. A blade sharpened on both sides, absorbing all the cold of heaven and all the flames of hell, became what I bestow upon my victims. It’s what I use to destroy your souls.

  This, Alistair's second gift, is one of the things I hold most precious. I have learned how to use it. I have realized its beauty, just as Alistair predicted. And I always watch with avid curiosity as those I give it to, over and over allow it to kill themselves. And I wait for the one who realizes he has the power to own it.

  Reflections of that dull steel sometimes flicker in Wolfie's eyes. Perhaps it is that cold glint that draws me in the most. Maybe that's why I'm in no hurry. I want to give him a chance.

  And I was furious when he decided to throw himself into the abyss without feeling the painful moment of approaching the edge. He wanted to be fast. And for some reason, I wanted to hold him back. To give him time to feel the blade and drew it from its sheath. Before I strike.

  The second time we met, he was already greedy for death. Like all the others I had before. If not his gaze, I would not have been able to stop. But disappointment is not what I want from him. And so I had to be mean.

  I gave him a week. A week of reflection and painful memories before returning to his call.

  He spent all his evenings at the club where we first met. He waited and drank, a lot, the way one only drinks with a built-up resolve of despair. He learned to make up his eyes and covered his nails with black nail polish like I do. Unseen by him, I watched him stare at himself in the mirror, secluded in the dirty toilet. As he sharpened a soft, crumbling cosmetic pencil with a small knife.

  He breaks the tip of it time after time, but he doesn't give up. Finally, he leans down close to the smudged surface and ineptly lines his upper eyelid. After a moment's thought, he leaves the same thick black line on the lower one. His eyes look funny now. One resembles the delicate pristineness of childhood, while the other betrays the secret desires of vice, thickly highlighted in black. He tilts his head to the side and winks to himself. Grinning, he works on the other eye, trying to duplicate the make-up flawlessly. He wants me to like him, he wants to be like me.

  I like it.

  Opening my eyes, I get up from the wrinkled sheets of the recent wild night and stretch my whole body. I feel it's time. I can sense the teasing sparks spreading beneath my skin. My lover is long gone and I don't remember his name. He satisfied my lust but failed to interest me. There's money and an unopened beer bottle on the pillow. Also a promise to come back tonight.

  I smirk and crack open the beer, looking at the worn bills. He doesn't know that when he returns, I'll be gone. All that will be left is the slight irritating smell of cigarettes and sheets that have absorbed the sweet sweat.

  This kind of life is the usual for the succession of my births. No home, no family, no pompous luxury. Just other people's beds, clubs generous with cheap booze, old impeccably tight jeans, and the road....

  An endless black canvas with an otherworldly power over my soul.

  No matter how many times I am born, I always come back to it. I never tire of walking along it, looking at the small cracks in the asphalt and squinting into the bright sun. Tattered sneakers, either old boots or just bare feet scraped by gravel, and the subtle exciting smell of the wind. And of the sky.

  Sometimes I think that road is a greater lover to me than even Alistair. Perhaps it is, who knows? I can just sense it in the irony of his gaze. And because he has long since stopped asking me questions when I once again return. I don't live on Earth. I hunt and I don't care about anything. I'm not afraid to die. I've slept with death many times....

  A few hurried sips from the bottle suddenly sobered me from vague memories. Putting it aside, I went to the mirror to assess the damage from last night's drunken oblivion. And, as usual, I was satisfied.

  I don't get hangovers. I always look better the morning after a night of madness than when I fall asleep sober. A sign of my vampire nature. There was even a slight blush on my flawlessly fresh face. My lips didn't have the drying crust of a long time kissing, but instead, they turned obscenely scarlet. He'll like me, I know he will....

  I showered and towelled myself off, brushed my hair back. Touching the silver ring in my nipple for good luck, I pull on a dark blood-red T-shirt with a funny “Don't look for me, I'm dead...” print and go back to the bedroom. Slipping the money into my jeans pocket, I tighten my belt. After thinking for a moment, I pull it out. It's better this way, this way I'm more vulnerable.

  I take the rings out and adorn my fingers with pleasure. One thin one with an embossed black snake - on my thumb. Two thick, heavy silver twins on the middle of the right and the left hands, and a vulgar VIC signet on the ring finger on my left hand. I love rings. I know how enchanting the delicacy of fingers is in their cold embrace.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Smiling contentedly, I light a cigarette and close my eyes, stretching out the last few minutes of my stay in this house. Then I walk out the door and don't look back again. A strong wind, promising bad weather, ruffles my hair. I shiver, feeling the slight tingle of his breath on my whole body. I love the feeling and don't button my jacket. There's still time until evening, and I look for somewhere to eat as my stomach rumbles with hunger.

  Wolfie was waiting for me. He sat on a high chrome bar stool and eyed the crowd. Some new band was about to play, and the club was packed with a motley assortment of young people. Cigarette lights were flickering, and it smelled like spilled beer. I saw him at once, but pretended not to notice.

  I ordered a double screwdriver and looked at the bartender while I waited. A skinny, narrow-shouldered guy who, however, had a knack for handling bottles. I could almost feel the scared stare in one of the moments. I turned around. Wolfie was staring at me from under this teasy bangs of him. Smiling embarrassed, he blinked. He wanted me to recognize him and to come over. He was afraid of it and he wanted it. He was adorable! Flustered, crookedly made-up, he was nervously tapping out some kind of tune with his fingers.

  I grinned. Walking very close, just enough for him to smell me, I headed towards the stage. I knew he would follow me. And so he did. At one point I felt a silky soft strand whip across my face. I turned around and saw him headbanging to the beat of the music. His hair was almost intertwined with mine. Noticing my attention, he moved it away from his face and exhaled, daring to speak.

  ‘Hi. You're Vic, I remember.’

  I didn't answer anything, I was excited by his nearness and wanted to tease him. The greedy nature of the incubus was taking over my thoughts more and more. He was dressed in black, with his shoulders defiantly bare.

  ‘You saw me,’ he repeated, ‘I remember...’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I liked your lips. Too bad you were too drunk.’

  He froze, staring at me with glittering, darkened eyes.

  'I'm not drunk now,' he said, and, embarrassed, added, 'I meant to say I'm not that drunk...'

  I saw the desperate determination and that's when I got mad. I wanted him badly. He teased my nature. He was practically innocent and provocatively open.

  ‘Are you burdened by your virginity?’ I gruffly threw out, ‘lack of experience with boys?’

  He flinched, and I saw his eyes fill with angry tears. He wiped them away, smearing a black pencil line.

  ‘I thought you were better,’ he said without looking in my direction, ‘I thought you were different.’

  He backed away hastily and disappeared into the crowd. I sucked in his elusive scent, tasting its flavour. And I couldn't stand it. I followed. When I caught up with him at the bar, I embraced him from behind.

  ‘I'm sorry,’ I whispered.

  He turned around, and I saw his lips in annoying proximity. Abruptly pulling away, I headed into the dancing crowd, looking back at him. After hesitating for a second, he followed me, mesmerized by the twinkle in my vampire eyes.

  So we walked, sliding between writhing wet bodies. I savoured the thrill of my growing power. I was leading him, and he no longer doubted. He trusted me. We made our way out of the hall, and after traversing the stuffy corridors, we found ourselves in an empty restroom. The door slammed shut behind him, and I turned around.

  He wanted to step toward me, but he didn't dare. Then I pulled him to me by his belt and pressed him tightly against my body. He startled, but the next second he was in my arms. I slid my hand under his shirt, delighting in the feel of his heated skin. The shiver of inexperience. I groaned in sharp pleasure and pushed him against the wall, eliciting an answering thrill.

  How madly I wanted to take him! I was almost insane with desire! He breathed rapidly, burning my skin. Pulling his hair, I eagerly kissed him. His lips felt incredibly sweet, and I couldn't tear myself away from them for a long time. I entwined my tongue with his, forcing him to obey me. Me only.

  When my breath hitched, I released his head and saw his eyes. Clouded with desire, darkened to the depths of onyx, they gleamed for a moment in the light of the lamps. I froze, noticing again the overwhelming phantom of danger. It was as if, clutching in passion, I suddenly ran into a sheath. He was holding something back from me, and I slowly pulled away.

  ‘Vic!’ he whispered, ‘I want you....’

  I wanted you too, Wolfie. I wanted you so badly! With all the awakened greed of an incubus! But your mystery sobered me up like a slap in the face. You should not have disappointed me.

  ‘You're too hasty, Wolfie,’ I muttered, ‘you don't know how dangerous I am.’

  ‘I don't care,’ he threw back. ‘You'll be my first guy.’

  'Yes,' I replied, 'but not right now...'

  ‘Later I might change my mind.’

  And he clung to me on his own. He kissed my neck, and then he grabbed my hands and put them on his hips. I ran my fingers into the cuts of his jeans and saw him bite his lip, feeling the cold touch of the silver rings. I clamped my eyes shut.

  ‘You have to have a chance,’ I whispered.

  I knew he didn't understand what I meant. Resting his head against my chest, he replied:

  ‘I've had girlfriends, I know what that is. But I never thought I'd want another guy this bad. Don't you f*ck worry about me!’

  ‘Don't tempt me, Wolfie,’ I said, holding back the lust that was mounting again. ‘I can take you farther than you think.’

  He lifted his face and looked me closely in the eyes.

  ‘I don't care, Vic, I don't care what you are. I...’

  I swiftly clamped my palm over his mouth. Painfully squeezing his half-open lips, I didn't let the words that could have been fatal escape.

  ‘If you say that, I'll leave you. Forever.’

  I slowly removed my hand. He was silent, breathing shortly. I gently shoved him aside and walked resolutely out of the toilet. I walked through the club without looking back, and it was only in the street that I let myself loose. In a rage, I lunged at the hobbled trash can and kicked it fiercely, scattering its contents all over the street.

  Empty beer cans, scraps of newspaper, and used condoms - all the things that lavishly fill ordinary human souls. The garbage that makes up most of you. The trash that this boy could have become if I had gotten him then. He didn't realize it. He was left standing on the dirty floor surrounded by the splattered walls. He was crying. I knew it, but I couldn't make myself go back.

  I wait for something from him. It's possible, though, that he's deceiving me. And if he is, I will be ruthless. He'll go through all the filth of hell. He'll soak it up until he's as old and ugly as a drunken moralist. Then Saint Ferno will cast him out. He will wander long beyond its indifferent walls, waiting. Calling for me. And then he will disappear. Like so many before him. And I won't care where.

  I will forget him and will forget the faint gleam of the blade in his eyes. That will be your fate, Wolfie, and that is what I have protected you from so far. On a strange whim, awakened by your eyes.