She watched him perched in a sycamore tree in back of his house. She began to adjust her weight so she could be able to gaze upon him without disturbing surrounding branches. She saw him clearly, she could even count his eyelashes as the eerie light flickered from his television set into his blue eyes. She watched him as he had eaten dinner, and stetched out over the sofa. There was a woman he lived with, his wife she presumed. She scoffed every time she saw her. Incomparable. She was ordinary looking. She had chosen what this wife perceived to be hers. He would no longer have such shackles to this life. She watched him sleeping then, calm at last. She smiled watching is chest rise and fall. She had to remember he couldn’t see her, she wouldn’t allow herself to be seen…not yet. All that was in her that was still woman wanted to abscound with him, he was hers. Six hundred years in the blood hadn’t changed what she knew she wanted. Perserved eternally at 31, she still and was assumed to be much younger. She lept to the roof, feet bare under the cresent moon she followed the scent that belong to his wife. She watched her, hanging from the rafter of the second floor. She watched this woman, hoping to see what would possess this woman to believe he was hers. She had a walnut brown face, long hair, braided into an upswept style wide set eyes and a figure indicative of at least 2 children. She was readying for bed, she watched her five-foot-four inch frame walk from the closet to the bathroom of the master bathroom. She noticed the bed was still made. Odd, especially if they were supposed to be married. She smiled inside. “Cracks in the armour.” She whispered. She heard the bathroom water run, thinking her thoughts insignificant enough to discern again. In a acrobat formation, she dimounted from her rafter back to the first floor window. She watched him, hands to window pane. She watched him toss and turn over the sofa. The shrew hadn’t even given him a blanket for comfort. That idle detail, the want of warmth and comfort, she committed to memory. She had to be armed with as much as she could so when she prepared to take him as her own, she wanted no qualm. She would study him.
She remembered when she saw him, getting gas for his dark green Honda Civic about a week prior. Such a responsible young man to drive a Honda. She had just woken up from her slumber and she walked not even 7 feet in front of him, caught his scent before she saw him. She walked around the hood of his car, she was already hungry and she didn’t want to make that hunger worse. What made her stop is he almost tripped over her as he tried to open the door for her to go inside the gas station. Her grey eyes caught his blue ones asshe stammered, and giggled nervously. “I’m sorry…I just…” She held up her hand, “No problem.” She whispered. Her sneakers carried her softly away to the alcohol in the back of the store. She grabbed her bottle of Merlot,and watched for her clumsy gentleman. Under raven colored bangs, she watched him scour from beer to snack food settling on a bottled water. As he walked to the counter, he could still smell him. “Polo Black.” She said to herself. He was about six-foot-one, short dark hair, and eyes…his eyes were these pool of noon tide. His gait was rushed, perhaps a woman he had to attend to. She pouted. She walked to the counter, paid for her Merlot, grinning as the clerk returned her change. “Have a nice night, darling.” He older man said from behind the counter, adjusting his wire rimmed glasses. She smirked at him, “I surely will try.” Her sultry voice causing a rosy flush over his wrinkled face.
She walked outside, the fall air tousling her hair, as she ran a hand through the raven tresses, her Merlot in her brown shopping bag. Her black pea coat hanging open to reveal the sway of her hip towards him. He hadn’t gotten in the car yet, and as she approached he seemed more focused than startled. “Hey.” She said. “You okay?” She said gesturing back to the step in front of the glass door. He nodded, his crooked smile evident. “I’m okay.” She studied his eyes again, held them. Married. She’s pregnant. He’s unhappy. Lonely. He knows she’s cheating. Heartbroken. Think she;s gorgeous. Wants to kiss her. “Yasmine.” She said smiling back at him. “Michael.” “Pleased to meet you.” She smiled. She turned on her heels, sauntering away. Her eyes darkened, and mouth watered, fangs cresting through her pale gums. “See you around, Michael.” She walked off, hearing his car drive off in the distance.
She walked around to the garage, the large door was down and side door shut. She caressed the window of the door, pushed it, shattering the glass. She reached in, to unlock the knob. Her bare feet and jeans scraping across the cool floor. She found his car closest to the door, and caressed the hood, warmth still lingering. She adjusted her tobacco colored leather jacket. She could smell him stronger than the motor oil, paint and gas that was housed inside. She walked the length of his car, heard footsteps that were not hers nearby. She paused, eyes fixed on the door. She didn’t want Michael to see her…not yet. She closed her eyes, listened for him. She heard his heartbeat, and music playing in sync with it. She heard him laugh, sweeter than the music. He was on the phone with his sister. She giggled. She tried the driver’s side door. Unlocked, sat in it and closed her eyes. She let his lingering warmth attach to the leather housed on her body. She could just take him from this life, make him, make him hers. She smiled, the thought. She wrapped her hands around the steering wheel as if she were holding his hands. She could slaughter the one whom stood in the way of her destined. She could burn the house down and take him as her sister Gaia had done a century and a half earlier to get her Chosen. She smiled. Gaia was always the more aggressive of the two of them. She made James in the woods not 30 feet away as the house burned to the ground, as the icy adulteress laid inside, sick from the laudanum she’d given to her. Gaia and James were in Rome at the present, in love and immortal.
She had loves for their lifetimes, never making any of them. She had always been afraid to make the mortal immortal. She had marriages before, human ones of course, four…and made a widow 3 times by the passing of time to their hearts and minds. She had loved them all of course, but she loved them enough to give them life…not, the quasilife she walked in and through. The decision to make the immortal mortal is not one to be taken lightly. After Gaia’s rebellion against familial advice, she was that much more leary of such a decision. She had to know more about Michael. She had to know more. The thought of him as forever frozen as a young man, his eyes aware and altered by her blood, him forever being hers, delighted her to the roots of her hair. He would be hers. She leaned forward and kissed the steering wheel before getting out of the car, slamming the door.
She deliberately walked in front of the garage, across the lawn looking through the window. His back was to the window, and she stopped. She stared, watching him type and stare intently at the screen intrigued her, excited her. She walked closer to the front window, watching him almost simultaneously move back from the desk. His eyes caught her wide grey ones again. There was a tingling that went through him, she felt it. She smiled, he grinned, and then turned and walked away.