"Oh, yes sir. I so hope you will sweep me off my feet and take me away from my sad, lonely life straight to fairy-tale land."
Smart ass. I like that. He sat on the bar stool next to her. "Do you think maybe we could start over, with a more civil tone perhaps?"
"Weeeee have started nothing. Is it really impossible for you to believe that a woman exists who isn't foaming at the mouth to bed down with you?"
"Actually, yes it is." He had tired of playing games. It was time to influence her.
She let out a throaty laugh. "Well, at least you're honest." Her voice sounded rich, and full. After he influenced her he would ask her to laugh again…and again.
Jackson needed to make eye contact. "All right, let's make a deal. Look me straight in the eye. Shake my hand, introduce yourself and I'll leave you alone if that's what you want."
"Fine!" She turned and held out her hand. It felt warm, slightly warmer than it should be. He wondered if she had a fever. "How do you do Jackson? My name is Elisabeth." She raised her eyes through dark, full lashes and locked full on to his.
Jackson felt that surge again and almost forgot what he was doing. What the hell is that about? She didn't avert her gaze this time. His pupils dilated and transfixed on hers as he commanded, "You want more than anything to be with me."
Elisabeth slowly stood, leaned into him with her whole body, put her lips to his ear, and nibbled softly on his earlobe. The hair on the back of his neck bristled and a shiver coursed down his spine. No woman had ever elicited a response like that from him. He felt unsteady and breathless. There was no bloodlust, but rather a longing that gripped him and clouded his thoughts. She brought her lips to his ear and rasped softly, "I'll be dipped in shit before I let a misogynist pig like you lay a hand on me." By the time Jackson fully realized what had happened, she had disappeared.
This was impossible! He had influenced her. First, he felt utter confusion, then anger. He would have that bitch if he had to use brute force. Rage welled up as he went to find her.
He stood in the parking lot searching for her and sniffed the air. She must be in a car. He waited to hear an engine start, ready to pounce. Nothing. Where could she be? Had he sat there, astonished, long enough for her to escape? He pounded his fists on the hood of a car, putting deep dents in the metal. He paced around the parking lot for a few minutes cursing the first woman to ever deny him, and then stormed back into the bar, grabbed the red head, forced her to look into his eyes and growled, "You will not scream." As he pulled her out of the bar, her eyes wide with fear, the boyfriend tried to stop him. Jackson flung him against the wall like a rag doll. He raced into the woods with the red head in tow, then stopped and viciously bit into her neck. This one would not feel euphoria, only pain and terror. It wasn't until her body went totally limp in his arms that he realized just how small she was. He had taken way too much blood. Dear God, he thought, I've killed her. He calmed himself enough to listen for a heartbeat. He found one, but it beat faint and thready. He threw her over his shoulder, ran to his car, tossed her in, and raced home.