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	Alex more than came trough for Ruby. The other girl always knew just how to cheer Ruby up, her genuineness enough to melt even the hardest or most distraught of hearts. As long as you didn’t insult her height, that was.
	Ruby perked up at the prospect of Alex having good news.
	“Hmmm?” she hummed, her tone already lightening. “Good news with alcohol. I like the way you think!” She tapped her temple, one eyes scrunching shut.
	Ruby watched Alex as she began to put together a drink with enough chocolaty flavors to satisfy the most potent of cravings. Or create it. Until that moment, Ruby hadn’t realized how badly she needed chocolate. 
	She eagerly caught the glass as it slid over the bar, the motion making her straighten up in her seat. For all the blue-haired girl’s clumsiness, she made some of the meanest mixed drinks.
	As Alex sat across from her, Ruby licked happily at the mound of whipped cream atop the drink.
	“There are three things in this world you can never have too much of.” Ruby paused to lick off her whipped cream mustache. “Weekends, chocolate, and whipped cream.”
	Her attention split between the milkshake and Alex as her friend elaborated on her good news.
	“A [i]paid[/i] vacation!” Ruby’s eyes widened animatedly. “Color me jealous!” If there was anyone in this city who deserved a paid vacation, it was Alex, hands-down. But the other girl continued before Ruby could say so.
	“Mm, a plan?” She placed her elbow on the bar, then rested her chin on the back of her hand. “Do tell!” She sipped at her own drink as Alex poured herself some. Her eyes widened. “Zom, this. Is. [i]Amazing![/i]”
	As Alex explained her plan, a grin grew over Ruby’s face, her boy woes forgotten. “You had me at ‘revenge outfits!’ It’s [i]about time[/i] you got something nice for yourself!” She hooked her feet through the foot ring and leaned back contemplatively. “I’ll have to double check to see if he’s going this weekend. Parker said it’s here all month. If he isn’t, well. Revenge outfit practice run for karaoke night!”
	She raised her glass toward Alex in cheers. “Either way, we rule, Tom drools!”
	
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	The night sung to Vander. It reeked of power and promise. Of steel and flesh. Though the streets of the city were left to bathe in a lonely night, the recent smells of humans still ghosted the streets.
	It made the predator inside him bustle with excitement. With [i]hunger.[/i] 
	But he needed to be smart. This was a smaller city than his last. Though he suspected humans went missing here often enough—they always did—he couldn’t risk feeding on someone who would be missed. Not immediately. He hadn’t taken so many precautions against Brahm just to ruin this himself on his first night.
	Somewhere in roughly the heart of the city, Vander paused at the opening to an alleyway. The ash-black of his dress shirt and darker fitted jeans melded perfectly with the shadows between streetlights. 
	Hands at his sides, he closed his eyes. Control. He needed to keep control. At least for now. Tapping each of his left-hand fingers against his thumb in turn—a habit from his human days that he’d kept in attempt to stay connected to some part of his humanity—he took a deep breath and reached out with all his senses.
	In the neighborhood around the lake, the scent of humans had been fainter, more spread out and faded from time—a whiff of day-old brownies lingering in the oven.
	But here, where vagrants roamed and drunks were just beginning to leave bars and night clubs, it was something else entirely—the aroma of a banquet permeating a hall to toying with the senses. It was just a matter of figuring out which hall led to the feast.
	His finger-tapping faltered as the ache of the bloodhaze seeped through him like acid. Acid that demanded to be diluted. 
	But the only thing he found in his immediate area was residue, lingering imprints of humans long since settled elsewhere. 
	Except…
	His eyes opened, their hazel irises consumed by his dark pupils. Something between a grimace and a grin twisted his face. He’d hunted enough vagrants to pick out the subtle—and not so subtle—tells in their scent. The only ones who ever noticed the loss of the homeless, were other homeless. And the worries of the homeless were so often beneath the concerns of the authorities.
	He’d found his prey. 
	Swift and silent as a shadow, he turned into the alley. It connected to a couple others, branching off into a miniature network of dead-end roads, but he followed the scent like a hound.
	He slowed as he spotted the lump of a figure huddled against a dumpster. Though hidden in the dumpster's shadow, his scent nearly overpowered by its stench, Vander could make out every detail. He sighed, disheartened; the predator in him had been hoping for a chase. The chase always made it so much more [i]exciting.[/i]
	The beat of the vagrant’s heart sped up, and his breathing grew shallower. The man clasped his blanket tighter, as if it could hide him from the danger in his midst. He was awake, then.
	This close to his prey, the bloodhaze drummed through Vander with a vengeance, it’s burn no longer a pulsing demand, but an inexorable compulsion.
	“[i]Ein schlafendes Schwein zum schlachten![/i]” he chortled, barely aware of his own words.
	[i]‘A sleeping pig to the slaughter.’[/i]
	The man tensely uncovered himself, the folds of his tattered blanket billowing with his already pungent scent. The [i]shick[/i] of a pocket knife opening was the last thing the bloodhaze needed to take full control, the drum of the man’s heart overwhelmingly loud in Vander's ears. He felt the familiar tug as his teeth extended into a mouthful of fangs.
	“Look. I don’ wan’ any—”
	The homeless man didn’t get the chance to finish. In a fraction of one of the man’s now frantic heartbeats, Vander had rushed to him in a fluid blur. He slammed the man’s back against the brick wall, one hand at his throat and the other his weapon-wielding wrist.
	The man choked on a scream as his wrist snapped with a simple twist, sending the knife clattering to the ground. 
	Vander slid his hand to cover the man’s mouth, jerked his victim’s head to the side, then sunk his fangs into the man’s neck. They tore through flesh and artery with all the accuracy and elegance of a rabid wolf.
	The man tried to scream again, but Vander’s palm muffled the sound. With some part of him aware of the dangers of the man being heard, the vampire touched the vagrant's mind with his.
	[i]Schweige schwein![/i]
	[i]‘Silence, pig!’[/i]
	Though the man didn’t know the language, Vander’s powers did. The man’s cries unwillingly faded to terrified whimpers.
	Then, the only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed, was the sweetly-tangy taste of blood. 
	The vagrant’s fear and pain floated from his mind to the vampire’s in a disjointed blur of colors and emotion, whetting the appetite of the bloodhaze.
	But even as it riled inside him, the burn of it through Vander’s veins and throat became a satisfied, soothing hum as he drank. Some small part of him hidden in the depths of his mind tried to tell himself to stop, to leave the vagrant alive, but that taste, that [i]relief[/i] from the eternal ache was sweeter than the thought of freedom. Sweeter, even, than a promise of vengeance.
	It wasn’t until the man’s pounding heart stopped, the blood flow ebbing, and his struggles ceased that Vander regained some semblance of control. 
	With a chesty growl somewhere between satisfied and disgusted, he forced himself to pull away from the now empty husk. The cruel, acidic monster of immortality begged for more, its appetite both quenched, yet whetted. 
	Breaths coming in heaves, he closed his eyes and fought to get the lusty agony of the haze to something more manageable.
	Control. [i]Control![/i]
	Releasing his last breath, he felt his fangs retract. Slowly, he looked down at the newest corpse he had to add to his already innumerable count, the side of its throat torn open. The gore glistened in the faint glow from a dim light at a back door a few yards down. Tantalizing crimson had dripped from the wound, soaking into the man’s already soiled shirt. His vacant eyes, frozen in wide terror, stared vacantly at Vander over the hand still at the corpse's mouth.
	Jaw set into a trained stoicism, Vander wiped his sleeve at the blood he felt dripping down his chin. He’d learned long ago to never wear any of his favorite shirts on a hunt.
	His gaze shifted to the metal dumpster. With a quick glance to the door, he swiftly opened the dumpster, then tossed the corpse inside as easily as if it was a feather-filled trash bag.
	He held his hand out above the opening. With little more than a thought, small flames dripped down from his palm, and set the corpse ablaze. 
	“[i]Ruhe in frieden,[/i]” he muttered. This time catching himself in his native tongue, he repeated, “Rest in peace. From one lost soul to another.”
	Vander turned his back on the rising smoke and flickering flames, stilling his breaths to avoid the all too familiar smell of cooking flesh. 
	Such a beautiful thing, fire. It could bring a calming warmth or agonizing death. Better yet, his fire would leave no evidence of his murder, and put itself out before it could do too much damage to the dumpster. 
	It had proven to be a power well worth honing.
	Ignoring the guilt seething behind his callous mask, Vander strode toward the alley’s nearest opening. With each step, his form became less corporeal, blurring before shifting entirely into smoke. His column swirled amongst the growing mass rising from the dumpster, then rode the wind back toward his temporary home.

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