Eternal Night

(II) Chapter 10: Hunger

The thick glass mouth of a bottle clanked painfully against Frankie's teeth as she eagerly raised the bottom of the vessel upward, pouring its contents directly between her lips. The blood that saturated her tongue, however, did not placate her inner demon as she had hoped; that dark passenger who, though still restrained in the recesses of her mind, was growing impatient, now taking to pacing back and forth in its mental cage. Still, Frankie persisted, downing what was left before tossing the empty bottle into the sink and reaching for a second helping, tearing the cork out with her fangs.

Tempest's memories were still buzzing angrily about in her brain – flashes of images, random bursts of feeling. But it was Vlad's face her conscious mind seemed to fixate on most, as if some miniature, omniscient being were holding a remote control, fast-forwarding to all the points in Tempest's otherwise happy life where Dracula had made an appearance before slowing it all down for effect.

The thought of Vlad only seemed to put her demon more on edge, turning her presently unquenchable lust for blood into something more nefarious. Frankie knew deep down as she nursed a third bottle that human or dhampir blood – cloned or otherwise – was not what she really needed. Her demon wanted vampire blood... Vlad's blood.

As if that shadowed part of her needed to drive home the point, Frankie soon found her thoughts returning to that time in Carmen's cellar when she and Dracula had kissed. The recollection of his hands on her body, his lips on her skin, the weight of him as he pinned her up against the door, the way he rubbed himself against her like a feral animal... Frankie felt a tremor of lust ripple between her tightly clenched thighs and she swore, removing the bottle from her lips and placing it roughly on the counter before gripping the granite edge to steady herself.

"Good lord, Francesca, get control," she muttered to the empty flat. Despite her vocalized plea, however, her skin continued to crawl, another shiver moving down her spine, the channel of her cunt quivering.

This tension was going to be the death of her – or him, some dark voice countered in the back of her mind and her brows furrowed over her glowing eyes.

There was only one way to appease her inner demon and decompress at the same time.

She needed to hunt.

It was a foolish venture in her present condition. She could get caught, as public hunting was illegal and vampire-on-vampire mastication in particular severely frowned upon. Not to mention she could lose control and go into blood-rage if she wasn't careful. But the grumbling of her stomach and the way her dark passenger clawed at the back of her brain had her questioning the weight of the risks.

According to the time on the microwave, she had a couple more hours until dawn reared its ugly head, and finding some undesirable that no one would miss at this time of night would be a simple enough task.

Yes, she was rationalizing, but the excuses proved enough to appease her conscience. With her mind made up, she quickly scribbled a note of explanation onto a scrap of paper for Rémy, should he arrive home before her, and then she was out the door in a blur of brown hair and black trench.

Thirty minutes of a brisk walk and a ride on the metro later, Frankie emerged on the streets of the east side of the city, alert, though admittedly a bit high strung. Her demon was excited, pacing now like a large jungle cat on exhibit behind the bars of her ribcage, all eagerness and a dwindling sense of rationality.

Patience, Frankie thought to herself in a desperate attempt to maintain control. We'll both get what we want soon enough.

On autopilot, her feet proceeded to move her along the familiar winding streets, the general filth and degeneration incapable of fazing the immortal female who moved with purpose. She weaved through the crowd, eyes constantly scanning the faces that surrounded her, searching.