Athanase watched her move, his cold blue eyes taking in each movement, extension and with a critical eye.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"> Arm too low...leg not straight enough....neck looks like a turkey just flopping about....balance sub-par</span><br/><br/>He rolled his eyes, turning his back to allow the wanna be dancer the privacy to finish up that heinous act she called dancing. â€œIf they think I am going to work with that gutter trash....â€ he mumbled angrily to himself before heading to his dressing room to get changed for the night. That no talent bitch had his mood soar, not to mention her clumsy hoof of a foot, had the nerve to damage the perfection that was his own foot.<br/><br/>Athan was in a bad mood and hungry, which meant only one thing. A trip to a night club, for some raw passionate dancing, perhaps a dirty quick fuck, followed by a good feeding.<a class="postlink" href="http://attheloft.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54ecca8b98833017743018f2b970d-pi">Changing</a>into something more, club appropriate Ahtan took his leave of the theater. The night was still young and there were so many eager heart beats thumping to the beat of life, that were just aching to feed his immortal soul. It was a privilege, nay, an honor for them that he even blessed them with the few moments of his presence before ending their pathetic lives.<br/><br/>All for the betterment of the world in his opinion, for the world is a better place because he graces it. Especially, given the fact that he has been removing the low bred rift raft from the rest of the populace. Making it better for the more refined and sophisticated lot, that he was apart. Yes, now that he had to deal with that little tart, he was certainly going to be enjoying himself even more when he hunted.<br/><br/>Time to make the streets run red with blood, well more like his sheets, but either way.<br/><br/>The heat of the club was nearly suffocating, compared to the cool embrace of the night that he just left. Warm bodies packed in like so many sardines, bumping and grinding against one another in the flashing lights overhead. Often he longed for the days of a simple ball, a proper waltz, there was such a beauty and sensuality to the dance that is lost in this day to people merely dry humping on the dance floor.<br/><br/>Moving through the crowd like a ghost he sought a particular prey, one so lowly and desperate that she would be of little challenge. Someone the world would not miss. There...among a mass of sweaty hot bodies...an unfortunate young woman. Trying desperately to dance her life away, and of how badly she was dancing. The torn and ripped clothing, of what was considered to be â€œhipâ€ amused him to no end. Such an unfortunate soul, lucky for her he was here.<br/><br/>Gliding up behind her, he began to move his body, the right way, to the music against her own. When his hand came around to wrap about her waist, to try and control the frantic ill timed movements of her hips, she gave him a startled look that quickly left when she met his eyes. The kind smile that he gave her was just enough to make her relax under his skilled hands. The music pumped through their bodies and he made sure that she moved perfectly in time to his own. Hips rocking to and fro with the quick beat, his hand running down along her chest to her stomach.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"> Belly button piercing</span>he thought ideally too himself, wondering if she had a tramp stamp too? Though she probably did, that was something with these young women. Marking themselves, defacing themselves, all for the pursuit of some male's affections. Such a sad disgrace the female populace had become, gone was their grace, poise and beauty. Replaced with over done, painted and smelly sluts, with no self respect.<br/><br/>Such a service he was doing to the rest of the world, getting rid of them.<br/><br/>Spinning her about in his arms, so that she was now facing him he smiled, catching her eyes and capturing her will.<br/><br/>â€œThere there now...that's a good little slut...â€ he spoke softly to her. Holding her body against his own, while his eyes remained locked with her own. â€œYes....â€ he leaned forward to sniff along her neck, â€œMmm...sweet, just what I need to take my mind off that tramp I am forced to dance with,â€ he smirked the tip of a fang being seen pricking into his lip. Traveling with her through the crowd he pushed her up against a wall, his body grinding and moving against her own to the point where she moaned aloud.<br/><br/>At that moment, he decided to strike, his fangs bearing proudly, dropping his glamor on her so that her fear became very real for a split second before he sank his fangs into her neck. Holding her against the wall, he drank deeply, reveling in the heat and the taste of fear that spilled over his tongue and down into his throat. It was like pure ecstasy to him, her life flowing through his body, coursing through his veins sustaining him for another night. Yanking his mouth from her neck, he watched her lowly sink to the floor. Not bothering to try and hide her body, knowing that none of the high and drunk individuals here would even notice her here slumped against the wall. Not that he cared if they did, they, unlike the dancers he had to work with, were expendable and he would have no problem killing a group of them.<br/><br/>About the only thing that soured his evening now, was the fact that he had gotten blood on his shirt. Licking the blood from his lips, Athanase essentially strolled out of the club, breathing deep when the night air once again embraced its wayward son. There was a light almost skip in his step as he made his way home, tomorrow night he was going to put that little tart through hell. Hopefully break her, so that he would no longer have to deal with her. Just thinking about her sobbing at his feet had him feeling practically giddy and if it were not for having already fed he would have done so again. As it was he merely whistled as he went home, looking forward to putting a bitch in her proper place tomorrow.