The Last Days of Sunlight.

The line of his neck drew her. He’d carefully sculpted his beard, fading it past his strong mouth till it disappeared completely along the naked symmetry of his Adam's apple. A tiny pulse beat where his jugular met the angle of his jaw. He looked -

-Delicious.

She threaded her way onto the dance floor. Primal music filled the air. Bass and drums and keyboard riffs slashed apart by electric guitars. It worked its way into her. She felt it thump where her heart used to be. She kept eyes on her prey. He was young, this one. Thick brown hair fluffed and teased with mousse, side parted the way the skidders did back in the early 20’s. A skinny blonde hung about his arms like melting cotton candy; overdone, underdressed and unremarkable.

Nya sighed. Women never learned.

She moved past the couple, slowly enough for him to catch sight of her ass. Two centuries of stalking ballrooms and bedrooms taught her what men wanted.

Leave something to their imagination.

Her dress clung like a sparkling second skin. Short enough to shorten the breath of every man in the room. It left one smooth white shoulder bare, and drew tight across her generous bosom. She moved past them, sculpted legs crossing easily over each other. Gold strapped roman sandals wound up her calves. Loosed, her hair cascaded in curly waves down her slim shoulders like a black mane. No man could resist. Not for two centuries anyhow.

“Excuse me?”

Never failed.
She spun around, a smile already on her lips. But the young man’s back was turned. She wrinkled her brows. Something went wrong. A short bald man stood in front of her instead. Blinking blacklight turned his shirt neon green at intervals. Disco lights held a private party on his shiny forehead.

“Want to dance?” He offered his hand.

Behind the unexpected suitor, the younger man ditched the cotton candy. He sucked face with another man dressed like a lumberjack. Red plaid shirt, thick beard and skinny blue jeans. Nya sighed.

Ooh! This generation!

She turned in a huff. What had happened to men?

The music continued to pump into the room, moving millennial feet, shaking booties and pairing unlikely partners.

“I’ll dance with you.” The old bald man’s hand was still outstretched.

Nya tossed her hair in annoyance.
“Thank you sir, but no thanks. You’re old enough to be my father.”

He threw his head back, laughed. Strobe-light turned his eyes ghostly white for a nanosecond. “That’s actually true. Then again, you too are older than everyone in here. Well, almost everyone.”

“How would you know that?” She looked carefully at him. Neat white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. Jeans. Sensible shoes. High cheekbones and wide smiling lips.

“I can see.” His outstretched hand fell to his side. “You’re hungry.”

Her stomach lurched at the thought. The hunger was always present. Always at the periphery of her thoughts, defining her existence. It worked sharp, persistent fingers into her chest. If she didn’t eat soon, the fingers would become talons, shredding her from the inside. Perhaps she could get outside and find a hobo or a drunk to feed. Dawn would not come for another five hours. Enough time to find something. Someone. Hopefully not a dammed vegan. Their blood tasted like carrot juice.

“One dance. You won’t regret it.”

Persistent bugger. Nya stared. He seemed bigger. As if he’d grown a couple inches. The buttons on his neat white shirt strained to contain his chest.

“Thanks but no thanks.” She backed away.

Something strange about this one.

“I insist.” He said. She blinked and then he was behind her, faster than her eyes could follow. His arms wrapped around her intimately, mouth nuzzled at her ears.

Enough.
She held her ground and pushed against him - but he didn’t move. The stone tiles beneath her sandals crackled ominously, like blocks of ice forming fractures in sunlight. They weren’t designed to endure that much pressure.

He tightened his grip on her. His voice slipped into her ears quietly. “Nya I’m so surprised to find you. It’s been too long.”

She struggled to break his embrace. No human could resist her strength. She was nightborn.

What’s happening?

Around them, hips gyrated. Sweat beaded, slipped, slid down young flesh. Laughter and music filled the air. In her ear the old man’s whispered a single word. His arms left her sides. The press of his body softened. In the moment she took to turn, he disappeared.

"Morningstar," he whispered.

The first fallen angel. The light of heaven. Father of the nightborn. Nya felt her limbs weaken. The eldest of them all. The source. The hole in God’s heart. On a dance floor in downtown Orlando dressed like an aging Vin Diesel.

Why was he out in public? Heaven herself forbade it. After the fall, he was banished to the deep places.

Music swirled around her. Too loud. Wild and confusing. The disco lights made her dizzy. She smelt the sharp sting of alcohol. The crush of sweating bodies shaped a moving prison around her.
Lucifer had been banished. But only until the end of days.

She looked around the dance floor. Friday night, the summer of ‘17. The world was about to end.

And she alone knew.

---

Hihi guys. This one is a teaser. If you want more..... grinning. Let me know. I'm game if you are. And to my family on Discord. If you want to pile in and shine the words up. I'm open to your edits. Smiling. We're in this together.
All my hugs.
J.
Source image by Pixabay

---