Rome 1923


Something was horribly wrong. Like a dog sensing a master's despair, Mona could feel it deep in her bones. She opened the door slowly, her face scrunched up into a sour apple pout as a barrage of scents assaulted her. There was the stink of rot, of piss and and blood (Must never forget the blood.) A long crimson streak cut a sloppy zigzag across her room's plush copper colored carpet. The contents of her steamer trunk had been emptied out and scattered everywhere. The mattress on her bed sat propped against the heavily draped window that it had broken. She didn't check the little box where she kept her money, or the other that contained her jewelry. It didn't matter what they had taken or if they had taken anything. All that mattered was that they- whomever they were- had dared to come into her room.

Mona dropped her purse beside the door and took a step forward. Everything was quiet. She drew a decorative dagger from the tin display hanging by her coat rack and ventured further inside, careful not to disturb the bloody line. She was calculating and quiet and cautious. She inched the closet door open only to find a terrified mouse. The adjoining bathroom was then approached with extra servings of caution, her pale brown eyes narrowed in the dim, blinking light. What Mona saw gave her pause. The blade of her flimsy weapon bit ever so gently into the underside of her wrist.

Vacated chaos. Blood splattered the walls like stars. The rug and curtains were done for, just like the woman lying dead in her bathtub. Her mouth was a slack, straight line but her throat looked to be smiling. Mona ran her tongue across her lips, painting them scarlet. The vitae teased the Beast and terrified the girl, but the whole of Mona seemed nonplussed by the corpse. She dipped her finger into the blood puddled in the bottom of her soap dish. The blood was still warm, and it was only then that Mona showed the world a wry smile. By what small measure of time had she missed the woman's killer? She licked her finger clean.

Suddenly she hoped the person was still there somewhere, hiding like a Christmas gift. Back into her bedroom and then she eyed the door to the rarely used kitchenette. The trail of blood snaked beneath the door, and right then and there Mona felt silly for not noticing it before. She followed the static red river into the little room and let out a keen of surprise. Not so much a bloody constellation this time but a Jackson Pollack painting. Mona wasn't one for traditional art, but what she was seeing drew her in, and if she didn't watch out then she would stare until the sun rose. That seemed an awful idea with all of the windows seemingly broken.

Mona shook her head and caught something paler than she out of the corners of her eyes. Two more bodies; two men this time, bled dry into a large stew pot and lying draped side by side like old coats across her kitchen table. Messy messy, but Mona couldn't help but stare. Someone had done all of this for her. A dreadful mess, but it wasn't as if she would have to clean it up. She would be long, long gone as soon as she sniffed out her secret admirer. She didn't recognize the dead men anymore than she had the woman in her bathtub. She pushed her lips to one corner of her mouth and furrowed her brows together in thought. Ballsy was a word that came to mind, but that brought her no closer to finding out who had committed the murders.

Suddenly she heard footsteps, heavy and determined, marching down the hallway outside of her room. Mona growled and rolled her eyes. Out of all of the horrible things she had done, she was about to get shafted for something she was truly innocent of. Never mind that most who knew of her knew that she didn't kill for pleasure. That was elsewhere, this was Rome, and Mona had no love for the Giovanni that ruled this city. Mona hurried to the broken window by the stove and opened it, but the drop was a bit too much even for her. Still, it wasn't the time to hesitate. Just as one of the goon's boots made contact with the door, the sound like a gunshot, Mona leaped from the window and willed her entire body to relax. The impact still hurt, still jarred and bruised and bloodied, but those things were temporary. Being staked and gifted to whatever corpse- ruling Rome seemed a bit too permanent for Mona's tastes. Besides, her fake leg had survived. Thank goodness for small miracles.

She pulled the hood of her jacket up and over her head and moved as quickly as she could down the old stone alleyway. Thoughts flitted through her mind. She had no money- it was back in the room- and her purse had also been abandoned (it never hurt to move about sans identification when you were a vampire) and her clothing was as good as gone.

It was going to be a long, long night.

The Detective questioned everyone in the hotel. The list of suspects was dismal to say the least and the people closest to the dead man's room all seemed to be on the same page; they hadn't heard a thing. That left Mona, and The Detective quickly realized that Mona knew about as much Italian as he knew Portuguese, and that presented a problem.

When he introduced himself in accented but clear English, Mona toyed with the idea of playing dumb. She was almost positive that the culprit was the same monster who had left three dead bodies to cool in her previous hotel room. It had become personal, and Mona owned those crimes just as much as her psychotic stalker, but she saw the merit in making nice with The Detective. He had already made it clear that she wasn't a suspect. She was a mere slip of a girl and only had one leg. To him there was absolutely no way that she could have broken the neck of a two hundred pound man and crammed him into that dumbwaiter.

Even smart humans were dumb to the abilities of the supernatural, simply because bogeymen didn't exist. So Mona finally answered him and she gave him her real name, and she simpered and looked properly distressed. She was a girl, after all, and she knew he wouldn't want to offend her oh so delicate sensibilities.

The Detective devoured her act and listened to her with a look of empathy and, not surprising, lust. Humans often saw the world how they wanted to see it, and The Detective mistook the warning bells ringing in his head for the siren's song of attraction. Eventually he told her that she could go, but Mona had already made up her mind that staying in the hotel would only lead to more murders and more questioning, and that in turn would attract the Giovanni's goons, or..worse yet..the Giovanni themselves.

Mentally she flipped through her options, so when The Detective- unorthodox as it may have been- invited to her his apartment, Mona had to will herself into not seeming so eager. Still playing the role of the dismayed coquette, the Cainite nodded her head demurely and thanked him over and over again. In her head, however, she was devising a plan to catch her admirer.

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His flat was small but cozy and warm and The Detective proved to be a consummate gentleman. He offered Mona food but she informed that she was too upset to eat, all the while eyeing his neck and his wrists with thinly disguised hunger. When he suggested they go out to clear her mind, Mona shook her head. If the murderer had followed them then it wouldn't do to leave the apartment, and she most certainly wasn't about to leave The Detective alone. Being framed was one thing, but being framed for the murder of a cop would bring even more unwanted attention upon her head. The Detective may have opened his home to a monster, but Lady Luck seemed to be in the apartment with them, though he would never know how lucky he was.

Mona didn't let him out of her sight, and he believed it was because she needed him. Poor thing had to have been scared out of her mind, and she did not dissuade him of that notion. When he went into the kitchen, she followed at his heels. When he had to piss, Mona waited outside of the bathroom door. She even shared his bed with him, pretending to sleep at the foot until slumber snared him in its grasp. When his snores reached her ears, she opened her eyes and sat up. She stared at his bedroom door, unblinking, until the sun came up.

The Detective woke up bright and early to find her asleep. He had to get to work, and it was a good thing he didn't look at her for too long. Had he been more perceptive, he would have thought she had died during the night.

She threw the door open and The Detective, gun lifted, took Mona's admirer down. The wound in the young man's belly had already healed or was at least very close but the bullet from the cop's gun went right through his right eye, and that would have him down for awhile. Mona heard it rattle around inside of the boy's skull.

Sweat dotted his brow and Mona could see the whites of The Detective's eyes. She could hear his heart pounding, making her realize how hungry she was. She quickly closed her eyes and lowered her head just enough to hide the lack of tears, then she rushed to The Detective and threw her arms around him, gifting her gratitude with trembling sobs and words of thanks in every language she knew.

After a moment his arms wrapped around her, comforting, but over his shoulder Mona's lips were curled into a half smile. As her admirer lay on the floor, the borrowed blood in his veins struggling to heal his wound, Mona planted her lips against The Detective's, smiled into the kiss when he reciprocated. Her hero.

Of course they couldn't stay there until everything was cleaned and processed and tucked away in a box on a dusty old shelf somewhere, which was fine with Mona. She hadn't wanted to stay there for too long anyway. As she peppered kisses along his neck, she eyed the other man's prone form and the bloody mess that the bullet had made of his right eye. Grinning, she let her feeding teeth slip through her gums and passed the soft flesh of his throat.

The Detective was in no pain, and when she was done she waited until he had stumbled away on euphoria weakened legs to regard the monster bleeding on the living room's antique wooden floors. She wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist and licked at the smear of blood it left behind like a kitten lapping milk. Then Mona straightened up and gave the other vampire a kick in the ribs. Something cracked and his head rolled limply upon his neck, but he didn't stir.

Pressing her pocket knife to her wrist, she cut an angry, bloody line and turned her arm to let the vitae drip into the neonate's mouth. "Let us see how you like me after you are bound to me," she said to his one remaining eye.

Idiota