Falling to Pieces(WT) Chapter Two

My arms hung limply by my sides as my eyes bore into the strangers back. I had to follow him. The air around me clung too the smell like a child clutches its mother’s leg at the school gate.
I sped from one tree to the other with fear of the scent dissipating.
I made sure my gaze didn’t leave him for a split second, I didn’t want to lose him, although I sure I could track that scent over quite a large distance.
The treeline disappeared as we reached a main road. I rubbed my hands over my face before stepping out on the sidewalk.
My eyes were firmly trained on the prize barely acknowledging the bustling traffic on the tarmac and the swarms of people passing me by.
His back illuminated from the glowing orange in the streetlight, the sleeves of his blue and white shirt rolled up regardless of the chill I’d image a human would experience at ten-forty five, even on a late summers evening.
His scent wafted towards me, it felt like stepping through a sweet, misty fog.
My body already responding to the attraction, I became aware of the dampness between my thighs, my hips swung as I walked. I held my spine straight, elongating my five foot five frame and pushed my chest out.
All this, despite the fact he had his back to me.
My tongue spread across my parted lips, willing my fangs to stay put as I inspected the section of sun kissed skin amid the starched pale blue collar and the damp tendrils of black hair lying against the nape of his neck.
I’d followed him for quite some time, allowing my gaze to flit from his body I realised we were now in Mayfair.
I’d remained at least ten metres behind him.
He turned to enter a bar with a bright, fresh, lime green and black painted exterior. He stood in the doorway between the strategically placed topiary cut trees talking in Italian with the bouncers outside.
I slowed my pace waiting for his next move, relieved when he stepped inside.
Sashaying up to the same entrance I flashed a smile at the heavy set, bald one as he, held the large glass door open for me.
The lime green and black theme continued on the interior. The black walls brightened by cheery lime coloured leather stools and chairs placed around chrome tables. The bar spanned the back wall, the bar top hummed with a low white-blue light.
I tried not to scan the room, nervous to make eye contact with the man I had followed. I kept my gaze on the bar, making my way through the perspiring crowds without having to pay attention to any of them, my body bending around them just before contact.
I reached the glowing counter, noticing my reflection in the mirrored wall and shelving behind the bar, the shelving displayed a vast array of available drinks. My eyes reflected back at me, momentarily unrecognisable, they were sparkling and bright, the violet flecks had expanded taking over my irises.
“What can I get ‘ya?”
I blinked turning to the barman, trying to prevent the quirk of my mouth from turning into a smirk. I wasn’t used to the cockney accent, yet.
“Glass of the house red, please. Providing it’s decent?” I said cocking my head to the side.
“Yeah, it’s alright,” he reassured rubbing his dark goatee beard, his eyebrows were plucked to perfection. ‘Gay’, I thought.
A warmth wrapped around me. The fresh blood I’d drank rushed to my face, producing a beet red colour.
I took a sideways glance, knowing full well he must be stood close to me, the smell bounded off him in reams.
He was looking at me. I gasped. He appeared to be waiting for me to speak.
“Hello.” I breathed.
“The house red is ok, but get her a glass of the Rioja would ‘ya?” he told the barman without taking his glowing brown eyes away off me. The barman moved away from us, following the order without question.
He leaned on the bar with one elbow, the skin on his face as smooth as silk, portraying nothing.
I snapped my mouth closed when I realised it was hanging open. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.
“I haven’t seen you here before?” he cocked his head to the side, the bar top illuminated his face, his smile widened.
“I just moved here.” I said mirroring the cocking of his head.
“Their loss, our gain.” His face slightly more serious.
I laughed at the cheesy comment, breaking the gaze between us. I heard the chuckle coming from his throat, I got the impression he was thinking out loud. The waiter returned with my wine, I made an attempt to pull my credit card out of my jeans pocket but the barman went to serve another customer without even asking for payment, the beautiful man just shook his head.
“Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Marc.”
“I’m Teagan.” I said holding out my hand, his palm slipped over mine flinching a little at the coolness of my fingers. His eyes were boring into mine and he wasn’t letting go of my hand.
His hand tensed over mine, his shoulders hunched and his eyes closed tightly for a second. He let go.
“Sorry, I have to go. Will you wait for a while?” His voice sounded as smooth as glass, an English accent, with a hint of Italian curling through some of his pronunciations.
“Sure. I’ll try.” I said following his gaze to the entrance of the bar, landing on a woman standing by the glass door, glowering at us, her arms tightly folded across the figure hugging brown leather waistcoat she wore, her dark curly hair tumbled down over her shoulders. Before I could utter another word to him, he’d strode over to the woman and took her by the arm, she examined me from over his shoulder narrowing her eyes at me. He forced her to turn around and leave the bar.
I sat on the stool, feeling a little stupid, unsure of why I cared. So he smelt good, exceptionally good, he’s also incredibly handsome.
I’ve always been the strongest person, apart from when I’ve been with others of my kind.
But, the emotions I just had with Marc made me act like a demure, meek and mild human woman, giggly and silly in the presence of a man I obviously attracted too. It’s a reaction I’ve gone without for about one hundred and fifty years.
I assessed the nervous reaction I’d had when he approached me, the tingle I’d experienced in the pit of my stomach leading to the wetness that now throbbed between my legs, I wished I’d bothered to put underwear on.
Sex, in both my human and non-human had been through necessity.
As a human, I’d had no sexual urges, I had sex when forced to, and I complied for my own well-being.
As a non-human I sought sex when I needed it, I went and got it, uncaring of whom gave it to me as long as the urge was sated, dealt with.
I sipped the red liquid as the realisation hit me. I wanted to have sex with Marc, having never had that sensation, it took me a while to recognise it.
My stomach lurched when I observed him coming back through the entrance, his face pinched until he saw me sitting on a lime green stool placed by the bar. His expression smoothing out, trying to hide his smile. I greedily observed his long legs, the strong muscle flexing against the dark blue denim as he crossed the room towards me.
“Sorry about that.” He said abruptly resting his forearms on the bar his body pointing towards the black glossy wood that held up the lit counter.
I swivelled around on the stool so that I faced the mirrored bar as well. Desperate to ask who the woman was.
Marc puffed out a breath.
“Why did you follow me?”
My mouth hung open again. “What?” I asked buying time.
“You followed me here, I…” he stopped, stumbled on his words, “I sensed someone following me.” He stared into the mirror behind the bar, assessing my reaction to his question without having to meet my eyes.
I took a large gulp of Rioja; it tasted lovely, no burn as I swallowed.
“I didn’t follow anyone.” I said, my voice soft and quiet.
He waved a hand around, laughing nervously. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I must be going mad.”
I smiled softly, the kind of pitying smile you give someone when they have just said or done something stupid.
“Is that why you’re speaking to me? Because you thought I’d followed you?” I asked, the smile gone.
“No, no, not at all.” He shook his head quickly holding his palms out, his broad shoulders hunched. He leant back on the bar closing his eyes. “If you had, say, been following me.” He glanced towards me, his eyes peering up at me, his head bowed. “I would be glad, and, of course… flattered.”
I took another gulp of wine, trying to hide my satisfaction with the wine glass. I let out a little giggle, sounding high-pitched and unfamiliar.
“Um…thanks, I think?” A grin crept over his lips. He turned around reaching out and dragged a stool close to mine; perching on top he turned back towards me.
“So, you’re American, huh?”
“Well, I was born in Ireland, but I moved to America at a young age.” The best way to explain my accent, I thought.
“So, why did you move to England?” he inquired frowning.
“My father wanted to move back, he’s English.”
“You live with your parents?” his frown deepened.
My cheeks reddened, only possible from my earlier feeding, the blood still running around my system.
“Well, um, yes, he has a few problems, I’m his carer.” I put my head down, inspecting the humming white light of the bar, trying to make my statement appear authentic, a poor girl caring for her sick father.
“Oh, sorry.” He said raising his large smooth hand to my shoulder.
“Are you cold, Teagan?” He’d flinched at the coolness of my skin.
“A little.” I smiled, still attempting to seem forlorn.
“Anyway,” I brushed off the inquiry, he removed his hand. “It appears that you’ve completed you’re interrogation, officer?” I asked laughing uneasily.
“Oh, sorry.” He said a smile pulled back over his teeth, his eyes wide and raising his palms. “I don’t even realise I’m doing it.”
“No problem.” I said still laughing. “I guess I can ask you a question, now?” I didn’t wait for his response.
“Who is that woman? Your wife, girlfriend?” I narrowed my eyes. Another new sensation, I cared about the answer. He sucked his breath through his teeth.
“She’s a family friend. She keeps her eye on me, that’s all. I’ve got a large family, they are,” he hesitated “well, wary of strangers.”
“So, lets get this straight,” I moved my head close to his, making him turn to face me. An orange tinged lock of hair fell on his tanned arm, my nose was an inch from his, his scent overwhelmed me a little, forcing a swirling sensation in the pit of my stomach followed by further pooling in the crotch of my jeans, but I didn’t allow my gaze to falter. I kept my voice low “your family are overprotective and irrational?” I flitted my eyes down to his mouth, his lips parted, full and soft.
I moved away from his face before I had the chance to kiss him, he didn’t move an inch, his strong jaw-line illustrated as he closed his mouth. I wiped the serious expression off my face.
“In that case, Marc, we have something in common.” I finally managed to complete my point in a breathy sentence. Glancing straight in front of me, my eyes glowing strangely in the mirrored wall. I spotted my empty wine glass, I shouldn’t have finished the whole glass, about a year had passed since I had drunk alcohol last, and it does funny things to me, well, to all of our kind. Things that make it inadvisable to drink too much in public.
I shuddered straightening my back, vacuuming me back to here and now. So involved with our conversation I’d become disillusioned that Marc and I had been sat together, completely alone.
Madonna sung ‘True Blue’ at an ear splitting volume. I hadn’t noticed a thing before now, not even the throngs of people with strange make-up on, crimped hair and brightly coloured clothes. I raised an eyebrow.
Marc grinned, shrugging. “Eighties night.”
“Ahhh.” I nodded. “I think I’d better go.”
His forehead creased, “You don’t like eighties music?”
I laughed, “Nothing to do with the music, or the company, I have to go, my father will worry. New place, and all.” I waved my hands around. “He forgets I’m twenty-two years old.”
His face brightened, I’d obviously answered a question he’d been desperate to ask. It would be funny if I told my real age, one hundred and seventy-two, including my human years. I was twenty-two when I came over, so I generally stuck with that if the question ever arose.
“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the bar. “You really have to go? Will you come back tomorrow?”
“What, here?” I said patting my hand on the top on the illuminated bar top.
“Yes. I’m always here.” I didn’t probe for an explanation of why. I slid reluctantly off the stool because I really didn’t want to leave and also a bit afraid that a damp patch would be evident in the crotch of my jeans.
“Shall I walk you home?” he asked, suddenly concerned with my welfare.
“No, I’ll be fine.” I smiled, retaining the knowledge that I’d love someone to try to harm me; I’d drain them dry for their cheek.
“At least let me get you a cab? I don’t know where you lived in America, but, London…well, you need to be careful.” He’d slipped off his stool now, standing straight, I didn’t even come up to his shoulder.
“I’ll get a cab.” I reassured him with a smile.
He grabbed my arm, pulled me against him. My head rested against his chest, I felt the hardness of his muscles beneath the crisp shirt, and I breathed in his delicious scent again. Seriously fearing my jeans would be unable to retain the leaking fluid so any longer. I stepped away.
“Tomorrow?” I said as an agreement I’d be back.
“Yes.” He breathed, his brown eyes glimmering a rich, golden colour.
Walking unsteadily to the door, turning and waving when I reached it, he seemed preoccupied, drinking in my figure, he held up a hand to return my wave, his expression distant.
Relieved being back out in the night air. I grinned and hugged myself, re tracing my steps home.