My victims lay smothered beneath my weight, my personal darkness staining the grey of night. From shadowy corners, I whisper to them, beseeching my targets closer with the call of a lover or the whisper of a good friend. As another foe falls, wretched blood staining the city streets, I crouch and feed, their legs and arms cracking to make room for my teeth. 

Once fully devoured, I flee, leaving what remains of their corpse and traveling through wing-woven nights to a different street. 

Tower bells strike thrice somewhere in the city, and another wary passerby skitters in front of the alley, rushing quickly, as if by running he could escape the cold logic of his eventual death. A stagnant breeze wafts the smell of blood towards me, and again I pounce and kill. 

Even before I appear to them, they can sense me nearby. The smart ones have heard of me before, and if they must come out at night, they remain where the light is strongest, knowing it stings my eyes to see such. However, my favorite nights are ones such as these, where the stars are covered by dark wisps of clouds, impossible to make out under such dim circumstances. 

One more, I decide, taking in the moon’s position in the sky. One more, and then I would head back to the shelter I came from, forcing my way through the atmosphere around me. 

Whispering jolts me from my reveries, and I scuttle closer to the sounds, hiding in the shadows of looming buildings. I whisper to the night, trying to make out the shapes of the prey through the darkness. 

“What was that?” one questions, female voice caught in a draft of air sweeping past. 

“A gust in the wind,” the other replies, scorn dripping from his tongue. “Your cowardice no longer amuses me, sweet.” 

I shuffle closer, yet they do not notice me. 

“Vector?” she asks, hesitant. “Why are you talking like this?” I could have told her; the man reeks of alcohol, even from this far away. 

“Tell me why you screwed him,” he slurs. 

“W-what are you talking about?” the woman asks, voice dropping an octave. She steps backward, and I sigh, bored and still hungry. With prey too big for me to kill or carry away, staying here is pointless. Spreading my wings, I pause as a snapping noise ripples through the air combined with the scent of blood. 

The woman screams as her body hits the cement of the wall behind her, but Vector muffles her, shoving his hand over her mouth again. 

“Should I carve off the lips you kissed him with?” he asks, twirling a knife in his free hand. 

I settle back in the darkness to wait. 

“I’ve used them to kiss you, too!” she cries, desperate and pleading. 

“So you admit it,” Vector interjects, disgusted. 

“What-no-yes- Please, I’m so sorry. Don’t hurt me. Please! I’m sorry…” she begs, backing away. She began to murmur something else, and Vector twirled his knife in his hand. 

“Are you praying? I thought you were an atheist. Speak up.” 

“Help, angels! Make assay,” she spoke louder, panic pressing her onward. 

“So this is what you turn to at the promise of death. Shakespeare,” Vector scorns. “What, worried God won’t forgive a cheater?” 

“All may be well. All may be well. All may be well,” she repeats the last line like a mantra, scurrying away from Vector, even as he chuckles bitterly. 

“What does Shakespeare know of love?” he asks. 

She struggles to her feet and turns to run, but Vector’s knife finds the center of her back, and she falls screaming to the ground. “You should have prayed instead,” he says. 

I can smell the blood filling the air, and I smile in anticipation. The work has already been done for me. I wait for the other killer to take his fill and leave, but he does not, only staring at his handiwork. 

Minutes of motionless silence pass, and as her cries dwindle into nothingness, I wonder if he died with his prey. The smell of blood calls me, entrancing me with its tangy scent. I creep forward, slinking through the shadows. 

“If you had feared me like you feared bats, this wouldn’t have happened,” his voice breaks the silence, once again slurred. I tilt a red eye in his direction, but he makes no move. 

“But you quoted the wrong passage.” Vector turns his gaze to the sky, and caught up in the moment, I follow, hissing when the light burns my eyes. 

“Stars, hide your fires. Let not light see my deep and dark desires,” he quotes, lips twisting upward in mockery. “Bet you didn’t think uncultured swine like I would know that, did you?” he asks the corpse. “There’s a lot about me you never bothered to learn.” 

He yanks the knife from her back and flees the scene then, as I always do, with the poise and grace of a hunter, but with the guilt of a child. When he is gone, I rush to the body and bathe myself in the gushing blood, drawing the substance into my mouth until satisfaction gnaws in my gut. 

As the clouds drift away to reveal a glow on the horizon, I leave the corpse where it lies, ashamed at the wasted remains and angry at the man who murdered solely to kill and not to satisfy his hunger. Yet, as I spread my wings and soar into the cloudy grey sky, something he said comes back to me. 

“Stars, hide your fires,” he had said. How applicable.