O for Obsession (Short Story)
Damian’s head snapped up, and his eyes widened. His body grew rigid, and combined with his pale skin and luminescent emerald irises it made him look like a statue.
She was near.
He knew it as certainly if she had walked straight past him, but his senses told him she was still a few hundred feet away.
Sheila, his obsession, his forbidden passion. His doom?
Damian forced himself to swallow and to take deep, shallow breaths, although he didn’t need either. Everything inside him wanted to run and revel in her presence instead of waiting for her to reach him and having to live with her never knowing about him.
Her tempting scent tickled his oversensitive nostrils. Ginger, vanilla, and a hint of something feminine and flowery, driving him crazy, feeding his addiction and sending him into a frenzy.
He had first stumbled upon Sheila 65 days ago—yes, he was counting the days—when she had stopped three schoolboys from bullying a much smaller and thinner boy in a dark alley where he had been hunting. She had hit him like a cannonball…or maybe like a bullet coated in silver, for she would surely be his ruin.
Damian loved everything about her. Her intelligence and fierce confidence that bordered on pride but was nowhere near cockiness. Her slow gait with just a little enticing swing of her softly rounded hips, her taut calf muscles brought out to perfection by the high heels she preferred to wear with her pencil skirts. Her self-sufficiency and her fearlessness when she strode through the dark with her head held high like a modern-day queen.
Her almond-shaped eyes and luscious lips. Oh, those lips… How he wanted to drive his teeth into them and catch just the tiniest taste of her!
And let’s not forget her voice that shot straight through his heart like a piercing arrow whenever he eavesdropped on her—which he did on a daily basis now. It was soft as velvet yet husky, quietly afire with the thrill of secret delights. And her swan neck, long and slim and pale, taunting him as if he wasn’t already tortured enough with thoughts of drinking her blood. He tossed and turned during the self-enforced rest at daytime, imagining brushing back her chestnut tresses to expose the column of her neck and sink his fangs into her soft, tender skin.
Need rocketed through him, so powerful that it was painful. He wanted her, with every fiber of his being. Body, mind and soul. He was obsessed with her. And she was not his to be.
She was a human. Humans were off limits unless you chose a victim to feed on.
In a bid to reason with a mind that was way too besotted to be open to rational thought, he recalled all the horrible tales he had heard: If a vampire revealed his true nature to a human—as many love-sick males of his kind had done it throughout time—it would mean one of two things: Either the woman would go raving mad or she would see him as evil and try to harm him.
But what about his Sheila? Surely a creature so noble and strong, so sure of herself and of what she wanted, would not react like that? What if he revealed himself to her and took the chance?
She rounded the corner, and Damian instinctively shrank back into the dark corner where he had been lurking like a ghost. If his heart had been beating, it would have stopped at her sight. What good were three hundred years of solitude and strength if a mere woman rendered him a fool?
He feasted his eyes on her figure walking carelessly through the crowd, standing out like a beacon of light, and just as destructive to him as real sunlight would be.
Would she remain his obsession or was day 66 meant to be the turning point for them?
Just when the thought entered his muddled mind, Sheila stopped in mid-stride, turned to her left, and stared straight at him.