A Dance at Midnight

hiding

-

Everything hurt.

It had felt nice in the moment - the burst of energy in her limbs, her hair scraping back from the wind, and the scenery blurring past her - but now, with pain shooting at her every which way, she just wanted to go home.

Easy enough: all she had to do was get out of this neighborhood and onto the main road where Henry awaited, after which they would silently drive off.

Senar crept down the sidewalk, sticking to the darker shadows that the houses and lampposts created. Blood scents swirled in the air; she held her breath. Vomiting now would only have the vampires descend on her.

A couple of houses over, a vampire - a Master by the look of his stature - was dragging something across the lawn. He bent over. She didn't see but heard the blood flooding out of the human's neck.

Across the street, under the direct glow of a lamppost, two vampires fed on a fallen human. He was large, and based on the bruises on his body, he had put up a fight. Now, though, he was nothing more than a broken corpse, his body food. His eyes were glassy and vacant, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

Senar turned away quickly. She darted toward a house where all the windows were dark. She pressed herself against the wall and inched forward until the backyard opened up. She made out the subtle zing of lemon laundry detergent. She moved to stand under the back balcony of the house.

She stared out at the dark, listening, waiting.

After confirming that she was indeed alone, she slumped and leaned her head against the wall of the house. She neither sat nor closed her eyes; she was resting, yes, but she didn't need to surrender all her senses.

As a vampire, she didn't need to breathe: her heart never pumped, and her lungs stayed deflated. As a bloodwoken vampire, her breaths came out in gasps, her heart pounded, and her lungs expanded until her chest felt like it would crack open.

Though there wasn't much discourse on bloodwake, since anyone with it was immediately decapitated, there was a reason "bloodwake" was referred to, in hushed tones, the "turning human disease."

She certainly felt human right now. Her blood had all but rushed to her head, and the aches stabbed her everywhere.

She pressed a hand against her chest now, feeling the frantic thump-thump-thump of her heart. The image of the prone man, the tear not yet dried on his cheek, flashed in her head.

Senar released her hand from her chest and pressed her palms against her eyes until the kaleidoscope of colors on the backs of her eyelids made her dizzy. She breathed.

In. Out.

Pain everywhere.

In. Out.

Dead humans. So much blood. I want to throw up.

In...Out...

I made it. I'm fine.

Slowly, she released the pressure of her hands. Several more minutes passed before she dropped them entirely. She blinked. Her night vision was growing worse, but she could still make out the paved path, the cluster of bushes bordering the lawn, and the swing hanging from the branch of the tallest tree in the far corner.

Back out on the street, screams sliced through the night. Laughter followed.

If Senar screamed now, would they notice? Or would they be too busy with the carnage to make out the difference?