Dancing Shadows, by Amber Averay
The darkness protects him. He needs it. Thrives in it. People fear what they don’t understand, and sometimes the worst fears come from the things they can’t see. Or that which they think they see, but can’t confirm.
Shadows dancing within shadows. Darkness pooling, concealing risks, hinting at dangers, promising threats that may or may not eventuate.
He is the threat. He is the darkness.
He watches her as she stumbles almost drunkenly down the street, shuttering eyes sparkling with interest. A deep breath assures him she’s not inebriated, just filled with misery, despair, and self-hatred.
It’s delicious. His mouth waters, and he flows from shadow to shadow in her wake, scenting her distress and fighting the urge to rush.
Her tears are magnificent, filling the air with a tantalising saltiness that feeds his fantasies. Her breathless sobs are music to his ears, an aria composed solely for his enjoyment. He wants. He needs.
He’s moving before she can take another shambling step, catching her in his arms from behind and sinking his teeth into her vein. Ambrosia explodes into his mouth, and with it all her fears and pain, her inadequacies, her hatred of herself for her failure to be anything but HER.
His eyes glow with satisfaction as she sags in his arms. She’s his now. He saw her. He heard her. He claims her.
He will feast on her tears. He will delight in her pain. He will feed on her blood as only the dark ones of his kind do. He will keep her, give her purpose, love her for her misery and terror.
Nobody else wants her.
She was meant for him.
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