Bethany walked briskly through the narrow street, feet brushing the cobblestones as she avoided the piles of stinking refuse.  The light of the moon cast long shadows and darkness pooled at the bases of the tall buildings around her.  The sounds on the wind were the common sounds of a port city.  The creaking of timbers as ships lay at anchor, the repetitive slapping of lines caught in the stiff shore breeze.  Towards the docks themselves, taverns would spill their occupants onto the main street in front of the docks, raucous cries of drunk sailors polluting the air with crude profanities.  Meanwhile, in the alleys and hidden places, cats stalked rats and mice with single-minded determination whilst stray dogs with starvation-revealed ribs howled in frustration and despair.
  All these sounds were the aural fabric of the city, its heartbeat, its confirmation of life.  Bethany heard each distinguishable component of this heartbeat and recognised them all.  Still she moved through the stone-lined arteries of the city.  The walls were a dirty yellow limestone, though in this light all was a dull monochrome.  Algae coated every surface available, the damp sea air and unremitting humidity giving the place the qualities of an urban swamp.  But Bethany did not sweat.  Her pale arms glowed softly in the scant light, occasionally brushing back a stray strand of jet hair.  The swirling mass of black tresses hid ivory face to match ivory arms.  Full red lips hid themselves in darkness whilst luminous eyes pierced the gloom.  Her breath made delicate chest rise and fall as she moved, relentless, blouse plastered to her skin by damp, humid, air.
  The heartbeat of the city increased in volume and masts of ships were now visible to Bethany.  Sailors could be heard singing and stumbling home.  Now the stink of rancid alcohol mixed with the already pungent odour of the city.  But Bethany did not care.  She continued to move until she finally reached the docks themselves.  She slowed, legs making little noise beneath her smooth black skirt.  A cat, slinking though the alley, hissed at her before dashing away, merging into the impenetrable dark.  Reaching the corner of the last building, she stopped.  Bethany stood just inside the alley, one hand placed on slick wall.  In front, the forest of masts reared into the night sky, the ships themselves rolling gently on the harbour swell, night-lanterns hanging like earth-bound stars.
  For the moment still, silent, Bethany stood listening.  To either side of the alley, taverns were plying their business.  The faint strains of singing and laughter hung gently in the air.  White fingers reaching upwards, Bethany loosened the ties on her blouse, revealing the swell of alabaster breasts.  Full lips open in anticipation, she waited.
  Tavern patrons passed by at infrequent intervals, in groups and alone.  Most did not notice the pale woman, hidden in the alley.  Some did, and offered bawdy remarks from wine-sodden mouths.  Liking what he saw, one of the drunks approached Bethany.  Unsteady on his feet, he rubbed his crotch obscenely, cruel smile above stained vest.
  "How much, whore?"  The smell of alcohol was hideous and mixed with that of tobacco and human filth.
  Bethany did not reply, but backed into the alley, loosening her shirt further, unlacing all the way to a flawless navel.  She lifted a hand and beckoned the sailor further in until they were both enveloped by the gloom.  The sailor's eyes fell on her chest and one hand reached into his trousers as he attempted to stimulate himself to readiness.  The other thick hand reached down, grasping her skirt, yanking upward.  He pushed himself towards her, the stink now intense.  As he struggled with his alcohol-impaired manhood, Bethany pulled him by the back of his neck until she was looking over the sailor's shoulder.  As she did so, he grunted and she felt his partially-erect penis against her thigh.  Eyes flashing in the moonlight, Bethany became filled with elation that only came with the hunt, that ungodly sense of power that came with the taking of a life.  Tongue flickering, Bethany felt the two sharp points in her mouth become more pronounced, aching, as if in anticipation.  Pulling his head further to the side, tanned neck was now fully exposed, artery pulsing as the sailor's heartbeat quickened, as he franticly struggled to fulfil his lust.  He groaned again, fully erect now and positioned himself within an inch of his goal.  Waiting no longer, Bethany smoothly moved her head towards that pulsing artery.  Twin thorns pierced the sailor's flesh and hot, foaming blood flowed quickly down Bethany's throat, the salty tang of blood matching the salt on the sea air.  The sailor let out a long low moan and shuddered gently.  Still Bethany fed, holding him up as the last dregs of life slowly extinguished.  As his death-rattle sounded, white arms let the corpse drop.  Red tongue licked red lips for the last of the crimson liquid.  Bethany shivered, her whole body tingled and rushed, finding for a moment total ecstasy before diminishing into sated contentment.  Not waiting to lace up her blouse, Bethany slipped back into the alley, back away from the docks, disappearing into the living city.