Thirst by Zachary Toombs
The moon ’ s chill coerced .
It drew Lex from his short-lived slumber , for the seasonal ball was tonight . Held at the Arcane Hall — a humming , cavernous , crimson-carpeted venue — it would draw countless nobility and wealthy folk . Even royalty . So , Lex dressed in congruous attire . With a velvety cape , tight tunic of taffeta , and his favorite amethyst pendant , he aptly played the part . He ran that wooden brush — a dried splotch of red upon its handle — through his raven-black hair . And to finish the masquerade , the creature attached a dagger to his hip .
He followed the powerful aroma of royal blood . It wisped through the streets like the smoke of a fragrant candle , beckoning him more intensely than the moon . And each time it entered his lungs , it made the sky appear more purple , and the street-lanterns crackle more ferociously . A kindling to his voracious fire . The hall buzzed with activity , its fluorescent windowpanes set alight as beacons . At Lex ’ s sides , other finely outfitted people worked toward the massive , stone building . Their low chatter was meaningless , and their collective scent didn ’ t tempt his fangs quite like that other , lingering aroma .
He found his pace to be faster than those around him , as the tease of that scent dragged him along on an eager string . Lex had to force himself to conform to their speed . To not be an anomaly .
13