The moon hung low

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                               The moon hung low:

The moon hung low that night, casting the valley in silver. Like a ghost she drifted over discarded pine needles and dead leaves, searching. The hunter was still out there- she could smell his blood, drifting through the woods on an electric air current. Their scuffle had been brief and violent, the blood still flowing freely down her arm to drip from her fingertips.
The white dress she wore blew about in the wind, as if it possessed a life of its own. She stopped and closed her eyes, turning her nose into the warm, shifting wind. The deep inhalation brought the sweet scent of young hot life. She licked her lips with anticipation.
The ruddy liquid stopped its slow drip onto the leaves below as she continued through the dark forest on her hunt, guided completely by the unmasked scent. Nothing on earth so silent, deadly, as her approach.
                                                    *
He stumbled into a large mountain rock, a wave of dizziness clutching his brain. He was losing to much too fast to keep running. But she was tracking him. He pulled the stake from his jacket and gripped it tight. The blood running off the deep wound on his shoulder was making the smooth wood slippery-hard to grip.
He slid down the rock, landing heavily on the ground panting hard. This one was clever. Not like the others. She had surprised him. He had known she would be here, this was where they had found the bodies. So he lay waiting, but she had known.
She leapt from the cover of the trees, howling like some demon from hell. He wasn’t quick enough to counter and she bit hard into his shoulder, crushing bone and tearing free flesh as he swung the stake. She reared away, squealing as it made connection with her shoulder, coming in for the attack again. Somehow, he had managed to stun her enough to make an escape, short lived though it may be.
His head hit the rock, loss of blood starting to make him weak. He laughed.
There won’t be any left when you get here. His shoulder was killing him. He looked up to the sky, vaguely wondering which direction she would come from. The moon seemed so big it had to be fake, like white cheese in the sky.
His grip on the wooden stake lapsed momentarily and he clutched it hard. If he was still alive when she got here, this thing could give him one more chance.
                                                  *
It smelled so good. And it was very close now. She saw the large gray boulder through a small hole in the trees. She peered around cautiously. This was a hunter, after all. She skirted the edge of the forest until the shape of his body leaning back against the rock came into view.
She felt disappointed. She had wanted to kill him. She dropped all pretense of caution and walked through the swaying trees toward him.
She wasn’t being careful anymore, which was more than he had hoped for.
His grip on the wooden spike tightened slightly, his body slowly readying itself for the spring.
She stopped, kneeling in the dead leaves before him.
He held as still as possible.
Cold touch, her fingertips grazed his cheek.
His spring was sudden and took her completely off guard. The wooden tip plunged into her chest. They landed in a heap together, and she howled in pain.
Blood squirted and hit him in the face, eyes snapped closed by reflex. They flew back open to see that he had missed. He had once chance, and he had missed her heart. He made a wild grab for the stake, but she had ripped it out and tossed it far away.
To close.
Hunter looked at prey as they simultaneously realized there was no escape. Hungry red-rimmed teal eyes locked on glassy blues. Time seemed to slow, earth seemed silent for a few seconds. The wind caressed them, lifting her hair, her dress. She didn’t look like a monster, just a lost waif in a bloody white satin dress sitting in pine needles under the moon with fangs...
With fangs.
The tiger pounced.. Her hand wound into his hair and yanked. White moon light reflected off the skin of his throat. Her fangs sank in deep, tasting for the second time what she craved. His hands dug into her arms, and they tumbled back once again.
The man in the moon watched the deadly dance, near consternation etched on his pallid face.
Images were passing between them. The connection sending emotion, a swoon, from one to the other, intertwined in blood. She pulled away, slowly.
Her face angled up into the moon, tongue licking the thick red blood from her lips. “Why did you become a hunter?”
He stared at her with eyes quickly dimming, unsure how to respond.
“Why did you... become a...vampire?” He finally managed to croak.
“Because they chose it for me.” The creature of dark almost looked regretful. Almost.
So tired, his eyes began to slide closed. Her Fingertips, like ice, traced his jaw line. She kissed him. He felt his muscles relax, all that mattered was that last kiss, before the dark settled in like soft music.
With fangs.
Someone was talking, but they were so far away. Asking if he wanted to go with them. He wasn’t sure, but it felt like he should wait.
Still liking the blood from her lips, She looked down at his still form, watching as his eyes emptied of life. She wanted to stop it, that consuming emptiness etched on the faces of so many victims. Thousands of faceless, victims. Her fingers drifted to her mouth, her lips sinking to her wrist. Long daggers grazed her silken white skin. What was she doing...
Her fangs pierced the flesh, severed the vein. Blood like runoff flowed, and she gave it to him, the stream.
He didn’t move. The blood flowed in, but no reaction came from the corpse laying in the needles. She watched the blood flow over white teeth, into a body that wouldn’t respond, accept.
Silly to waste so much time here, with the body. She should have been quicker.
Death is faster than the jackals, the vultures. She went to pull away when a sudden grip on her arm pulled her back. Still warm lips locked around the small, dripping wound, pulling hard at her heart. Teeth that did not yet possess fangs gnashed at the hole she had made, desperate for that first drink.
Images to share again, between master and servant.
His slowly changing eyes snapped open, meeting her cloudy ones.
She wouldn’t be alone anymore. Ecstacy...
He drank deeply before she pushed him away.
He turned his eyes to the moon. He squinted. “Its brighter than I remembered.”
“Its always been that bright. You just never really saw it before.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed you.”
His eyes closed. ‘I’m a hunter.”
“Now you’re the hunted.”
He stared at her, without judgment, hatred.
She laced her slender fingers into his right hand. “Come, we have time yet before dawn.” She smiled.
He couldn’t resist her tender voice-the command ran deep.
As the man in the moon hung low, watching with his everlasting eyes,  they walked into sweet eternity, hand in hand.