My Dark Beloved - onc 2023 Ambassadors Pick-Longlisted

.3

I have recently fed, but I suddenly feel hungry. Starving. Like everything I have ever eaten until this point of my life was nothing but cotton candy and air. I barely remember how good Lux's blood lay curled up in my belly scarcely an hour ago.

From the jukebox, someone is lamenting over lost love.

"Do you believe in serendipity?" they ask me, briefly touching the tip of their hair.

I lean back against the bar and shake my head. They smell like a certain type of orchids I once grew in the garden – ones that smelt like vanilla and lots of sugar. I want to fall into them, close my eyes, and breathe until I've breathed in every inch of them.

"Fate?"

I give them a faint shrug. "Nope."

"Santa? The Tooth Fairy? The Easter Bunny?"

"I don't believe in anything I can't see."'

The silver-haired beauty chuckles and rolls their drink around a circle of moisture. "That's silly."

When I shrug they exhale upwards dramatically causing strands of that glorious hair to flutter around their face.

"Don't tell me you believe in stuff like that," I say with a scoff.

"I believe in things I cannot see." Then with a giggle, they add, "Not the Easter Bunny though."

I tap my fingers against the counter. I'm curious. "Like what then? God?"

"No," they reply and their innocent tone shifts into something that makes me shiver, "like violence."

That comment makes me tilt my head in wonder. "You can see violence."

"You can see the aftermath of violence. First, it's felt. It's an idea. Then it becomes an action. The feeling that you want to do something bad is already you doing it, even if it's in your head. It's already violence." They chuckle; it's low and reminds me of bells cracking. "But you want to do the bad things. Then you do them."

"I think you've had enough," I tease as I jerk my chin toward their drink.

"Not enough, actually. I could happily drown in it and swim with whatever sharks I encounter at the bottom of my glass."

I spot Jeremiah sticking up another poster. He's casting glances my way and has this what the flying fuck curve on his lip.

"Are you always this dark?"

They shrug and push their drink toward me, making the cool glass come into contact with my arm. It sends my cells into a frenzy and goosebumps explode.

When I remain mute, they take the glass and run it along the length of my arm. "You should be wearing long sleeves."

"Shoulda, coulda, woulda."

"Your skin is turning reptilian." When they look up at me I see just how green their eyes are. Like the chartreuse liqueur Lux and I once got so drunk on we vomited for two days.

"I'm not cold. It's only my skin reacting to some dumb, human thing."

"Dumb, human thing?" They raise a brow. I can tell they think I am a nut. "What are you some sort of vampire or something?"

I make snapping noises and they laugh. "Or something," I say and wink.

"I dig it."

That damned glass keeps running up and down. Up and down. I want to ask them if they are into one-night stands, trios, being tied up.

"So, not cold, huh?"

"Naw."

"There's enough snow to supply everyone with their own snowman. It's minus some crazy number outside."

"Yah. Not cold though." That damn glass keeps doing what it's been doing for the last few minutes and I'm starting to feel like I should be telling them we should stop this bullshit chit-chat and go to the men's room and fuck. It's not like they are touching me with the damp glass because I'm on fire or something.

"Why?" they ask.

"Why what?"

"What are you not cold?"

I lean closer to the glass. Condensation from the last few slivers of ice drips onto me and onto the counter. "I can't remember how."

"To be cold?"

I nod and they tell me I am a strange sort of fruit.

"Are you going to do that all night?" I whisper when they continue stroking me with that cool glass. It's bad enough I had a semi when I left the house, it took me forever to get it down. It's back again, with a vengeance, and it's aching.

They stop and tuck a lock of hair with their free hand behind a slightly pointy ear. "Nope." Their fingers uncurl from the glass and spider-walk to the damp spots on my arm. Tiny crystals dot the hairs. In the oxygen, I smell electricity.

Before I can suck in a mouthful of air, the tips of their fingers begin a little dance across my pale flesh. There's an impish tickle in their voice when they ask, "Am I being too forward?"

I may fall out of my seat. I nod and try to stop the mess of butterflies bashing against my ribs. "Yes."

They look up. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the jukebox give a small kick and then shift to a new song. A smile spreads across their eyes. "Good. I'm going to be so forward you'll regret walking through that door."

My lungs stop contacting. The veins under my skin forget their purpose. And the lights above flicker spasmodically. "I'll regret nothing."

"Oh, we'll see about that."

Words: 900

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