The Last Vampire

The corridor opened up to a magnificent ballroom, its rounded glass ceiling illuminating the floor with moonlight. A wooden dance square was set in the center of the room, isolated amongst a sea of dining tables, all of them laden with deep burgundy tablecloths. The polished maple of the square gleamed in the moonlight, and a lone couple danced slowly across the floor, following some unheard rhythm.

A balcony overlooked the floor, almost hidden in the far corner of the room. A lantern, hung in the covered booth, flickered, revealing a solitary figure reclined in a chair. The figure’s eyes were closed. Long fingers hooked around a glass of blood-red wine. Eyes opened slowly, and the glass was brought to lips, white as winter.

The man set the crystal upon a bar adjacent to the chair, spreading dust into the air. The dust reached his nostrils, but he did not cough or sneeze. His eyes, hauntingly bored, glanced around the ballroom, surveying its emptiness. His eyes found the lone couple; color flooded into his pupils.

Emotion and blood coursed through his veins as he admired the rosy flesh of the woman’s cheeks, the plump shape of her swaying body under the black dress. He rose from his chair, black cape flowing behind him. He reached for the glass and drained it, a small red rivulet streaming down his chin. He smacked his lips, paused for a moment, and then leapt from the balcony.

His body plunged towards the ground at a violently alarming pace, yet at the very last moment time seemed to slow. He landed, straight-backed, and strode forward, brazenly making his way to the dance floor. He maneuvered around the tables, annoyed by their random assortment. He reached the edge of the dance floor, and pulled a seat to face the couple. His ice cold hand grasped the top of the leather-backed chair, and he lowered himself into it. He was within a dozen feet of their dance, easily close enough to smell their blood. The hairs on his neck rose, and his dead heart beat expectantly. His pupils were wide and red.

He frowned. The couple had made no reaction to his proximity. They just continued their dance. He wondered for a second if this was a dream or illusion, but the strong scent of blood in the air quickly disproved that thought. He was annoyed by this ignorance, so he left his seat and approached the couple, planning to let them know what he felt of their oblivious behavior.

The smell of blood increased as he closed in on his prey. He licked his lips. He could hear their hearts beating in their chests, but they were still at a normal pace. That would change. He stopped about a foot from them, watching their dance. The woman’s head was nestled on her partner’s shoulder, and they twirled slowly, peacefully.

The smell of blood was so strong. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He reached for the woman’s buried neck. His fingers hungered for her touch. His dead fingers brushed her warm skin, and in that moment he felt ecstasy. His eyes closed, and he drank in the essence of that moment. He slowly opened his eyes. The woman had lifted her head off the man’s shoulder and was looking directly at him. There was no fear in those eyes. She turned to her partner, whispered something in his ear, and they disappeared.

He stood there, shock painting his every expression. The couple had just vanished. They hadn’t flown away, or even evaporated. They were just gone. It was as if they had never existed.

It dawned upon him. It was a trap. But how had they found him? How could he have been so stupid to have not noticed it? The smell of blood had been too strong. He fell to his knees, bracing himself for the silver bullets that he knew would be peppering his chest at any moment. He closed his eyes, wishing that he had some god to pray to.