Eleven o' clock at the Nocturne. On the dance floor, pretty boys and girls strut and move to the rhythm of the music. It controls them, the beat thumps through their bloodstreams, exciting them, their bodies' movements growing ever more frenzied. 

Their hearts beating faster, their breathing heavier, they move closer to their partners, dancing almost on top of one another but not quite. They mirror each other's gestures, moving slower but more in synch, until they are one. Their motions almost hypnotic, they are aware of no one but each other. 

Their cheeks ablaze, their eyes radiate passion. Naked hunger. 

They are alive. Ripe for the picking. 

And I watch. Silently. Maddeningly tempted. Ever aware of how effortless it would be to reach out and take one of the boys, engage him in mindless chatter, charm him, seduce him, lick the sweat from his forehead, take him into my arms, run my lips over his cheeks, ravish his mouth with mine, nibble his ears, unbutton his shirt, suck on his sweet nipples, maybe even make love to him. 

Then kill him. Just like I'd done too many times to count anymore. 

I don't mean to kill them. 

At the time, I just want to enjoy their bodies, their heat, and their fire. And each time I tell myself, I won't do it. 

But it's so intoxicating. Currents of arousal and excitement sweep me under, endorphins pour through their bloodstreams and I'm suddenly hyperaware of the mingled scents of their juices, their sweat, the salt of their skin, they smell so good, so luscious, and the more hot and bothered I get, the less my appetite is for sex, and before I know it, the kisses grow rougher, my tongue starts probing, and even though I can still stop myself, I don't want to and they don't even feel it, they don't know what is happening to them until it's too late. 

They start to panic, I love their panic, and I lose whatever control I have left. 

Then I kill them. I always kill them. Boys and girls. 

Of course there are other ways. More primitive. Nastier. More satisfying. 

I could even just do it quickly, if I don't get intimate, I can just take what I need and leave them alive but what's the fun in that? 

I'd done it all those ways, not always my choice, but I admit, sometimes it was. More often then I'd like to admit. And while my needs were not my choice, how I satisfied them was. 

But Weasel, this was your choice. You chose to become this way. 

Yeah. I sold my soul for a pretty face. And that pretty face made me this way because he wanted to fuck me without killing me. Great reasons. 

Not that I regretted it. Angelo was like no other lover I ever had, and things with him were never boring. 

But we had definite differences in opinion when it came to some things. 

Like killing. It was no big thing to him, granted he'd been at it much longer than I had, but when it came to taking a life, he had no qualms whatsoever, and couldn't understand why I did. 

He liked it. Enjoyed it. 

So did I. A lot. That wasn't the problem. 

Nothing gave me greater pleasure than killing. It's like being high; you're drinking in their joy, their pain, fear, and finally, their soul. Their life becomes your life, until you hear the slowing of their heartbeat and you realize there's nothing left. You've taken everything. 

The only thing better is sharing a kill. Angelo and I shared many, my pleasure becoming his pleasure, his lust becoming mine, until we abandoned the kill and Shared each other, becoming nothing but mouths and teeth and hands... 

Nothing else made me as excited, got me as hot, and made me as wanton. 

Then I woke up the next night, racked with guilt and self-hatred. 

Sex without juice was not as satisfying. Even with Angelo. Especially since he wouldn't touch me when I drank the magic elixir instead, letting it quench the fire within me, a miracle drink that tasted almost like the real thing. Something that Angelo called "Rotgut." 

Which was what I'd drink tonight. Angelo was gone, out hunting. 

I hadn't had anything but Rotgut for the past week, the longest I'd been able to stay clean, and though he tried to talk me into going with him earlier, somehow I resisted his charms. 

Not that I didn't kick myself. He made an effort and I turned him down. For what? So I could cradle my bottle with pride because I wouldn't take a life tonight? A life that probably didn't give a rat's ass about mine. 

And I'd drink alone. 

While Angelo was in Dimitri's bed. Where he'd been sleeping for the past week. And would probably sleep until he found a new flavor of the month to play with. 

I went over to the bar where, surprise surprise, Dimitri was tending. 

But seeing Angelo's cousin wasn't the degrading part. Enduring his smugness at taking my place in Angelo's heart as well as his bed wasn't the most excruciating thing in the universe. 

No. 

What made me want to curl up and die was the fact that I'd have to ask that Greek Ice Queen for the key to the wine cellar so I could get that Rotgut. 

Well I made this bed, time to lie in it. 

And he wasn't going to give me the opportunity to be dignified. "You want something, vlaka?" The ultimate insult. Not to be called an idiot, but for him to do it in Normspeech. 

I refused to take the bait. (Just give me the key,) I Nightspoke, using our natural speech that was too low for Norm ears. 

He laughed. (And why would I do that?) 

Okay, at least he was acknowledging that he was speaking with someone who was every bit the Nightchild he was. As for the rest, I wouldn't have expected more. Didn't mean I wasn't gonna ask for it. (Knock off the sarcasm and hand it over, Dimitri.) 

(Oh you want it, don't you?) 

Fuck it. I Shadowdanced, moving lightning-quick over the bar and seized the asshole by the throat. Damn stupid too, considering he was a lot bigger and stronger. 

Oh yeah. Dimitri pried my fingers off him easily. "Be lucky my cousin still protects you," he hissed, reaching under the bar and getting the key, dangling it. "You won't be in his favor for much longer." He threw the key, like tossing a steak to a starving dog. 

And just like the dog, I bent down to get it, not bothering to face him, or anyone else when I walked away and went down the red carpeted stairs, then down to the basement to the wine cellar. 

A key wasn't really necessary. For anyone else. 

There were ways of getting into closed places without keys. Or doors. Ways I'd learned how to master but was forbidden to use. 

Why? Darling Angelo made the suggestion to Master Ardoin that it should be as difficult as possible for me to get Rotgut. He reasoned that I'd be more likely to take the path of least resistance. And the least humiliation. 

Ardoin agreed. Naturally. 

So here I was, walking down the long corridor to the wine cellar, with nothing to look forward to but an end to the craving for another night. Such as life. At least I could sleep without guilt tonight. 

Alone. 

I approached the wine cellar door, about to put the key in the lock...

(Kaloz mou.) Angelo reached out from behind and I liquefied into his arms. 

Beloved. He hadn't called me that in a long time. He turned my face to the side, brushing his lips against mine. Honey sweet. Juice sweet. His tongue slipped into my mouth, I bit his lips and for a few moments there were no words. 

Cripe, I was going to blow everything! Did I care? Enough to pull away. 

(What's wrong?) Angelo asked ever so sweetly. 

(It's not going to work, you know.) 

Angelo ignored me. (I chose them especially for you.) 

I sighed and put the key back in my pocket. For now. Yeah, right. 

(You already sampled.) I remarked. 

He shrugged. (Not them.) 

I didn't ask whom. He'd tell me and I probably didn't want to know. 

Angelo reached into my pocket, took out the key, and unlocked the wine cellar door, leaving me completely dumbfounded. Then he nearly made me faint when he walked inside and came out holding a bottle. 

Okay, I thought at first, he's finally going to admit I won. Then he ripped off the cork with his teeth, spat it out and took a long drink from the bottle before handing it to me. (You drink the rest.) 

I took a glance at it. A long drink indeed. (You already drank half,) I pouted; (It won't do much good.) 

Angelo gave me a diabolical smile and I came to the sudden realization that it was exactly what he had in mind. And since he was now locking the cellar door, I wouldn't have the chance to get any more without asking for it. Something I was not about to do. 

And he knew it. 

Angelo laughed. (Love, you are as transparent as glass. Think of it as a favor.) 

I glared at him. (That's what you call it?) 

(Now you can do what you want without the guilt because you have no choice. You can blame me, and absolve yourself, having your juice and drinking it too.) 

I bit back a nasty retort because as much as I wanted to lie to myself, he was right. He'd just taken responsibility for my actions so I wouldn't have to.

(You win.) I finally decided, handing him back the bottle, (You may as well drink the rest. For all the good it does you.) 

But to my bewilderment, he wouldn't take it. (Don't waste it.) 

(But I thought-) 

(Drink it.)

I shrugged and gulped down the rest, the nectar sliding down my throat and drenching it. It wasn't just the juice in it, it was the whole mixture of Rotgut that made it so good, the sangria, the herbs, the effects of some of those herbs. And of course, the juice.

In fact, I knew Angelo liked the taste as well, he drank it often enough even though it didn't seem to work on him. Instead of extinguishing his thirst, it seemed to exacerbate it. 

I sucked down every drop in the bottle, but it wasn't enough. I needed more! There wasn't any. 

(It's not working!) I snarled, (It's useless!) 

I looked in the empty bottle, then at the locked door and threw the bottle against it, feeling a sense of satisfaction when it shattered. 

(Enough.) Angelo grabbed my hand. (We're going.) 

He was pulling me along, so all I could ask was, (Where?) 

(Out,) he answered with more than a little edge of impatience in his voice. (We're going to be late if you keep screwing around.) 

He Shadowdanced and since I didn't want my arm falling off, I matched his speed, not bothering to step on the stairs as we floated straight up to the main floor, where he sent someone to clean up the mess I left on the wine cellar. 

Then we walked outside, up the stone steps, then towards the street where a sleek, black Thunderbird was parked crookedly against the curb. 

When we headed straight for it, I realized it was Angelo's. Interesting. I didn't even know he could drive. 

(Nice wheels,) I remarked, (Where did they come from?) 

(I borrowed them.) He opened the passenger side door. (Get in.) No room for argument there. I slid inside, instantly blasted with the scents of sex, sweat, and musk. Something like what I smelled all over Angelo. It figured. 

Didn't mention it, instead noting, (You didn't kill him. You barely took any. Where's the owner of this toy?) 

(Where I left him, on the outskirts of Sargot City.) Angelo chuckled, (With a big smile on his face.) 

(Not when he figures out you nicked his car.) 

Angelo shot me a look of annoyance. (You know better. He won't even remember anything but a really good fuck.) By Angelo, natch. He didn't get fucked by anyone. Except me. And only sometimes. 

(Stop stalling.) He slammed the door shut then got into the driver's side, rolling his eyes heavenward. (Why do you always act as if I'm corrupting you?) 

(Because you are.) 

I expected him to get pissed, but instead he shut the door. (In that case, I might as well corrupt you.) Angelo leaned over, pinned me against the car door, and kissed me in a way that made me tingle all over. 

I broke away for a moment. (Aren't we going to be late?) 

Angelo unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down to my ankles, (They'll just have to wait a little,) he murmured against my belly as his lips slipped downwards…