Heart Breaker, Life Taker
by Karla Tanay
She had a body women sweated for, starved for, wrapped in pale, flawless skin, the kind I'd only seen before in airbrushed photos of supermodels. She laughed and tossed her hair and took the barstool beside me. Her skirt barely covered her ass and her shirt barely fit the definition.
I wasn't complaining.
She bought me a drink, maybe three. Our mindless conversation ended when her hand found my knee. I asked her to dance, despite my distaste for it. She offered, instead, to give me a ride. My car was outside, but I didn't care. I could pick it up from the impound between eight and five.
We never made it to the car. We found a dark alley nearby. We were hungry, both of us, but hungered for different things.
“Do you want me?”
Her teeth flashed white and sharp when she smiled, then she kissed me. I kissed her back, hard enough to muffle her screams should she cry out. I drove my fist into her heart and extended my fingers, seeking the flame which breathed life into all flesh.
How strange to find nothing there.
I released her, but she did not collapse, only lifted a hand to her chest with a look of surprise that mirrored mine. She was accustomed to being the predator.
“What are you?”
I had no time to answer. Her death took me fast. It wound its way through me, banishing my light as it went.