AN: Story is AU, non-Twilight, no sparkling, etc.

Better than Blood

Chapter 1:

Moon. Full, fat, beautiful moon, surrounded by stars and hanging so low and large in the black black sky that it almost seemed to throb with paleness. A faint breeze, not cold, the air filled with the scent of my own perfume as the wind stirred locks of my long dark hair. A smile moving over my mouth, lips waxy with lipstick and burgundy red. Perched atop this apartment building where my date was getting dressed below, squatting on the corner of the low brick parapet like a gargoyle in a tiny black cocktail dress. Gazing up at the moon and basking in its radiance as a pleasant heat filled my face. Inhaling the cool night air and closing my eyes and opening them again to gaze again at that big, bright, beautiful moon.

Tonight's the night.

It would be our third date, which hadn't been a long wait, but more than long enough to build a thirst. Her name was Alice Cullen, and frankly, she was the cutest thing I'd seen in a long time. There was simply something about her, something special that went beyond the physical configuration of her face and into a deeper form of inner beauty, a beauty beheld in the brightness of her eyes and the warmth of her smile that could only be the reflection of a kind, gentle, and loving heart. That, and she had a terrific ass. Her picture on the dating site was impressive, but the jeans she wore on our first date—my god. I simply couldn't wait to finally sink my teeth into her, and on a night like this, with such a moon so high in the sky - it was going to be perfect.

It had been impatience that drove me to her rooftop and it was impatience that drove me back down again, crawling across the wall like a gigantic spider until I came to her bedroom window. Below was only an empty alleyway, nobody around to look up and witness the woman suspended supernaturally against the bricks, upside down, her hair not hanging, her dress not drooping. Peeping in the corner of the window where—


She had just gotten out of the shower and she was parading about the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel as she set out a dress to wear on the bed. The dress was red, the color of love, passion, blood, and I smiled at her choice. So symbolic, so subtextual. So perfect.

I continued to watch her, my eyes bright and dark and roaming her slim legs under the hem of the towel as she moved to a dresser drawer and sorted through the things inside it. I was so distracted by the prettiness of her thighs and calves that it didn't register to me what she was looking for until she straightened up with a tiny, sexy, red lace thong in her hands.

My heart stopped. Well, technically, my heart didn't beat at all, but that did nothing to mitigate the bolt of delight that struck me in my chest. Her choice of underwear was even more perfect than her choice of dress. Red was always lovely, of course, but a thong—a skimpy lace one at that—suggested she was indeed prepared to put out tonight. To be honest, I hadn't been entirely sure she would be ready. She was quite a sweet and innocent sort of girl and we only had two dates. But if her choice of underwear confirmed anything, it confirmed that—

My train of thought cut off as her towel hit the floor.

I had been stalking her for a week, but it was the first time I'd seen her naked. Women simply don't spend as much of their day naked as you'd want, and certainly not in places where you could easily spy on them. But this was worth the anticipation. Even with the towel you could see her body was reasonably bodacious, but without it—dayum. My eyes fairly glazed over at the perfect shape of her breasts, not large, not small, just perfect, and so plump and soft that it almost would've broke my heart if only I had a heart to break. Such delicious-looking little things—and her ass! She had turned slightly and she was stepping into her panties, pulling them up along her legs until the waistband settled at her hips and the string settled between her taut, round, beautiful little buttocks.

Then she gave a wiggle to get them just right.

That slightly squirm of her hips almost undid me. The excitement that washed over my body rendered me nigh weightless and the only thing that kept me from peeling off the wall and fluttering into the alley below like a broken bird was centuries of finely honed self-control. I stared, my lips parted. The window was in danger of being fogged up or perhaps broken in a mad frenzy to get at this dear girl's ass. It was maddening, absolutely maddening. If that ass didn't have teeth marks in it by tomorrow morning, I'm not a ravenous lesbian vampire. But she was turning away now, turning to her dress on the bed, and as pretty as the dress looked, I couldn't help feeling a stab of sadness that her body was about to be covered.

But still.


It took some effort to rein in my incredible lust but I managed tolerably enough to continue watching her until she was ready. I watched her slip on her dress and zip it up. I watched her adjust her breasts in the bodice. I watched her step into her shoes, red like her dress, perfect pumps to accentuate her perfect body. I almost lost control again when she disappeared again into the bathroom, impatience clawing at my chest like something that wanted out, until she came back out again in full makeup, lipstick and mascara, eyeshadow, a bit of blush. She was one of those rare girls who looked amazing without makeup and even more amazing with makeup. Like a perfect china doll. She was twenty two years old but she hardly looked a day over seventeen. The kind of girl who had no idea how pretty she really was. The kind of girl who almost made me wish I was actually capable of falling in love. But alas, for centuries I had been cursed into a state of an ever-permeant lust that had long ago swallowed my heart whole, and honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.

By now she was almost late for our date and getting a little frantic. She was stuffing her purse with things she might need, cellphone, keys, pepper spray—which meant I ought to make extra effort not to assault her in the middle of the restaurant—and looking about as if to remember if there was anything she was forgetting. Her eyes drifted to the window and I retracted a bit out of view. But she didn't see me and when I looked again through the window she had left the room. I smiled and felt a flutter in my chest.


Flipping backwards, I leapt down from the wall into the alleyway below and landed perfectly in my tall black stilettoes like some action hero bimbo, lowering into a crouch before raising slowly and adjusting my hair and dress. I came sauntering out of the alley and around to the front of the building where I installed myself beside the glass doors and waited for my beautiful date. She came out in a bit of a tizzy, the door swinging closed behind her, worried she might be late. I let my eyes linger on her back for a moment, watching how the thin red silk flowed against her curves, and then I lifted my eyes with a smile and said:

"Hey, cutie."

She spun around, giggling at the surprise with a hand over her heart as if to keep it from flying out of her chest. "Oh," she said. "There you are. Sorry I'm late."

"No problem, I was just about to call a cab. Ready to go?"

"Yep," she said. "All set."

She swayed on the spot, visibly hoping I would notice her dress, and I smiled and said: "You look incredible." Not as incredible as the peep show through the window, but incredible nonetheless.

"You too," she giggled, and placed a kiss on my mouth.

The kiss was only a brief brush of her lips—we were on a public sidewalk, after all, and we still only barely knew each other—but it lit a spark inside me that almost made me growl. The scent of her perfume was already teasing me inside my head and the scent of her body, her blood, was stirring in my stomach. The hunger had already been wetted by the taunting display of nakedness and I was very seriously tempted to simply drag her upstairs by the hair and toss her onto the bed and devour her whole. But instead I took my phone out my purse and called a cab.

The restaurant was called L'Artusi. I told her about it in the cab, about the exceptional service and marvellous food, but the thing that impressed her most was how I could actually pronounce it properly. She tried a few times herself and couldn't come close. It was charming. On our first date she spent about ten minutes telling me how sexy my British accent was while trying to mimic it with similarly amusing results. Her tongue was obviously not suited to linguistics but I'm sure we could come up with some other uses for it, once I finally get her head between my thighs.

It wasn't until we arrived at the restaurant when she was actually impressed by the restaurant itself. The interior was warm and filled with the scent of expensive Italian food and a low glow of candlelight illuminated couples at tables, bottles of wine, a redwood bar in the corner. A dim atmosphere, quiet with string music in the background. She was holding my arm and she actually seemed slightly in awe of how romantic it was as the waiter led us to our table.

We sat, me speaking to the waiter, her still looking about. I ordered some wine, a particularly expensive bottle, and she looked a little nervous as the waiter went away.

"Wow, this place must be so expensive," she said. "I wasn't expecting a place like this on a third date. I'm not even sure if I can afford it."

I dismissed her concerns with a gallant wave of my hand. "Don't worry about it, I'm paying."

"Oh, I can't let you do that."

"Of course you can, it's my pleasure," I told her. "I've been dying to take you here ever since we first met. It's my favourite restaurant in town."

The waiter arrived with the wine and she fell quiet for a moment, smiling as the glasses were poured. The waiter handed us menus and went away again. She rose her eyebrows at the prices column.

"Wow," she said. "You eat here a lot?"

"Well, I wouldn't say a lot. And never as early as the third date."

"Really? What's so special about me?"

I looked up from the menu and bestowed upon her a smile filled with as much wholesome admiration as I could muster and said:

"What do you think?"

Her ass, of course. But she giggled as if she thought I meant her eyes. Or even her personality, the silly thing. But it was a successful compliment and I looked back down at the menu.

"So," I said. "What are you getting?"

"I don't know, I'm so hungry."

"Mmm," I agreed, flicking my eyes at her the way a lizard flicks its tongue. "Me too."

It took a while to decide what to order but soon we were eating. I had little appetite for human food but it wasn't exactly unbearable. Just tasteless. I sipped my wine, wistfully reflecting on how the red liquid could almost pass for blood. Almost. The hunger was getting stronger and it didn't help the way she moaned in pleasure with each bite and licked her lips and giggled and chatted on in that lilting voice of hers.

Soon we were finished with dinner and relaxing with some more wine. I was tempted to avoid mentioning dessert at all so that we could skip to the real dessert, which would be a slice of her sexy ass, but I had spent so many years pretending to be a perfect date that it was almost real by now. So I offered, and she demurred, and I offered again, and finally we ordered an expensive chocolate thing that was bound to make her even wetter than the smooth and elaborate flattery I'd been showering her with all night.

She sighed while we were waiting, her face positively glowing in the soft uplight of the candles, and then she turned her radiant smile to me. "You know, I gotta admit," she said. "I find it so awesome that you're an actual model. It's one of the first things that caught my eye on your dating profile."

"One of?"

"Well, maybe I noticed your picture first. Does that make me shallow?"

"Not as shallow as noticing my occupation first."

"Yeah, I guess that's true," she giggled.

I smiled and set down my glass. "What do you find so fascinating about it?"

She shrugged a shoulder, still smiling so brightly. "It took me by surprise, that's all. It made me wonder why a woman like you would need to sign up for online dating in the first place."

"A woman like me?"

"Well, sure. Couldn't you date anybody you wanted?"

I resisted the urge to snort haughtily. Of course I could. And I generally did. But it probably wouldn't be very wise to admit that.

"Well, not exactly," I said. "I'm only interested in girls, and girls I meet generally tend to be straight."

"Oh, right," she said, as if that made a lot of sense. "I didn't think of that. I guess it would be easier to find someone online. It's still pretty incredible, though. I never thought you'd actually reply to my message. And even when you did, I never thought I'd like you."

"How come?"

"Well, you know."

I smiled and leaned my elbows on the tablecloth in order to bunch my breasts together between my arms. "You thought all models are dumb superficial bimbos?"

"No," she said. Then she smiled and added: "Well…yeah."

I chuckled. She was basically right, although I flatter myself that I had managed to accumulate at least a little intelligence in my centuries of traveling the world.

"Seriously, though," she went on, "you're just not the kind of woman I ever imagined dating."

"I'm just a regular person."

"You don't seem so regular," she said, her eyes lingering over my flawlessness.

"Well, neither do you, to be honest," I said, still leaning on my elbows, smiling, watching her. "I think you're a lot more beautiful than you give yourself credit for."

She blushed prettily, glancing at the swell of my breasts. A small giggle escaped her. "I still feel kind of inferior," she said. "It's almost like dating a celebrity. After our first date I did a search for you online, and—wow. I was just blown away. Some of those things you were wearing…I couldn't believe a woman like you was interested in me."

"Oh dear," I said, unleaning from the table in mock mortification. "You didn't see that topless shoot I did a few years ago, did you?"

"No, no, nothing topless," she said, laughing at my joke. Well, she thought it was a joke. "But I saw the shoot you did in Paris, for that new Versace line. It's funny, because I've always dreamed of being a designer. I've actually been saving to train in Milan one day."

"Really, wow. I have a lot of contacts in the industry, I'd love to help you out."

"Thanks, I'll keep it in mind."

She giggled again and her face was practically glowing from the raw wattage of her smile. The poor thing was seriously enamoured with me. It was almost enough to make me feel guilty. She'd be so crushed if she knew my interest in her extended to little beyond her ass.

Dessert finally arrived and her eyes lit up as she laid them on this chocolate tower of cake and fresh raspberries all melted over with steaming chocolate sauce. It was served on a single plate for four people, which meant we were going to have to indulge.

"Wow," Alice said, staring at it. "It looks so perfect. I almost don't want to touch it."

I smiled at the notion. I felt a similar way about girls like her, but in the end, defiling them is half the fun—for both of us.

"Come on," I said, shuffling my chair closer to hers. "Let's share."

We both had forks and with smiles we dug them into the cake and each took a bite, spilling the chocolate sauce onto the plate and spoiling the overall arrangement.

Dessert was wonderful as dessert often is, filled with lots of giggling and eye catching, and afterwards we engaged in a flirty repartee over whether or not she was allowed to pay. Her half of the check was quite substantial and I was surprised by how much of a fight she put up. I hadn't expected her to be so stubborn but as her voice became more serious—as if she'd feel guilty if she let me pay—I found myself obliged to yield. And so I accepted her cash, quite impressed at her spirit of independence, and paid the difference with my creditcard.

It was the one anomaly in an otherwise perfect date but I didn't let myself dwell on it. For the night was young and many more delights yet awaited us. Unfortunately it would've been poor form to rush her home and rip off her dress, so instead we went for a stroll in a nearby park where we could—ugh—talk even more.

It was a rather warm night and neither of us needed a coat. The park was completely empty, just the two of us, arms linked, strolling along the paved lane and under a bridge where the clicks of our heels echoed under the arches. She sighed as we came out the other side and gazed up at the sky. I gazed as well. That moon. That big, fat, throbbing moon.

"Wow," she said, blinking at the myriad stars winking in the big black vault above us. "It's really a beautiful night, isn't it?"

"Mmm," I murmured, and I actually had to swallow away the thickness in my throat. "I love full moons."

"Yeah," she said. "Me too."

Something downcast in her voice pierced my moon-glazed haze and I turned to her. "Hey, what's the matter? You seem nervous."

She stopped walking. We were underneath a tree with a bough overhanging the lane that cast a rustling shadow over our shoulders and dresses. She look hesitant but determined—kind of like how she looked when she insisted on paying her half of the check.

"Well," she said. "It's just… it's getting late, and…"

"And what?"

"The truth is…I'm not sure if I'm ready to have sex yet."

I blinked at her. Something inside me was shrivelling up and dying.

"I don't understand," I said. "Are you saying you're a virgin?"

"No, no, no, not a virgin," she said, half chuckling. "Nothing like that."

She seemed reluctant to go on. My throat had tightened to the point where I had to cough to clear it.

"Then, um…it's just me you don't want to sex with?"

"No, no," she said quickly. "It's just…"

She hesitated again and this time I was too lost to urge her to continue. She sighed and looked at me apologetically with the shadow of leaves stencilled across her face like a black veil.

"I'm sort of on the rebound," she explained. "It didn't go well with my last girlfriend. It wasn't even her fault, really, we were just in two separate places in the relationship. I was in love with her, and she, well…wasn't."

I nodded slowly. "Okay."

"The point is," she went on, "I'd hate to be hurt like that again. And if there's one thing I've learnt about myself, it's that I'm not the kind of woman who can have sex without becoming attached. Which means I need to know this is serious…before we go any further. I mean, I still don't really know you. We met on the internet, and…"

She trailed off, hoping that would be enough. And it was. I understood quite clearly.

No ass for me tonight.

To say I was crushed was an understatement. I was devastated. Shattered. In all my three hundred years, I had never had such bad news. How could this be possible? I had been waiting for it all night. Longing for it. Needing it. Dimly, I realized I had never wanted a woman so much as I wanted this one right now. I was so hungry and thirsty and—

"You're disappointed," she said.

I was pretty sure I hadn't been crying but perhaps I had lost track of my facial expression for a moment. I regained it now, though, and quickly shook my head, even forcing my mouth into a smile. "No, no, no, it's fine," I said. "I completely understand."

She looked at me. She gave a weak smile. "But you are disappointed, aren't you?"

She seemed to sense I was faking, but she wasn't mad, so I allowed a little of my actual feelings to the surface. "Well, maybe a little," I admitted, flickering my eyes at her sexy body in her sexy red dress. "I mean, I really like you, and…"

She looked aside shyly, suddenly looking very young and girlish. I could tell that she would probably cave if I even made the slightest move on her but I couldn't do that to the poor thing.

"But listen," I said, taking her hands and drawing her eyes to mine. "I'll admit, my own attitude on sex may be a little more casual than yours, but I'm perfectly capable of respecting your feelings. Above all, it has to be right for both of us. Or it won't be right for either of us. Right?"

As corny as it sounded, I was actually very sincere. Nothing turned me on more than consent and mutualness. And the way her face lit up suggested she probably felt the same.

So, yep.

No ass tonight.

"Thanks," she said, relieved. "That really means a lot to me. To be honest, I would've changed my mind pretty quick if you were even just a little pissed off."

I suspected as much. Dammit. But I chuckled and rubbed her hands a little. "That won't be necessary," I said. "But that doesn't mean we can't fool around a little, hm? Come on, let's sit down."

There was an iron bench nearby, between two lampposts, and we walked toward it with our hands clasped and sat down. I took her face in my hands and smiled with a hidden sadness at how cute she was. Such a pity. I had really been looking forward to rubbing my pussy all over that pretty face. She blushed anew at the scrutiny and offered a tentative smile.

"Are you sure you don't mind waiting a little bit?" she asked.

"No," I said, smiling to make her feel better. "I can tell you'll be worth it."

It was the right thing to say and she wasted no time pressing her lips to mine. My heart gave a sullen throb but I couldn't deny that even just a kiss of her soft and sensual lips was a true delight. I parted them with my own and deepened the kiss with my tongue. She moaned a little and even allowed my hand a liberty or two up her dress, stroking the outside of her thigh, higher and higher, until I was reminded of the underwear she had chosen to wear tonight. That lovely red lace thong. I toyed with the waistband of it and fought very hard not to burst into sobs. How could she wear such a taunting pair of panties without any intention of taking them off? Underneath that innocent exterior was a saucy vixen indeed. I would have her eventually, oh yes. The concept of abstaining from sex for emotional reasons was mostly lost on me, but I understood the art of making a girl happy, and I would wait however long it took for her to be comfortable. Ripened fruit is the sweetest, and I could tell simply from the taste of her mouth that she would truly be worth the wait.