The alleys held the long shadows of the street lights, his form elongated down them. It was two-AM, and this part of the city was quiet. He directed blood to his ears and began to hunt. He wore a hoodie and faded jeans, jogging down the deserted street, sneakers tapping the cracked concrete.

There was something disrespectful about hunting in a place that was not yet home. Permission had been granted. Nevertheless it smacked of tactlessness. No glamour in it either, he was never one to seduce, that raw sexual energy some had — and so many Kindred had — he simply lacked. An odd Incubi. Stability could be seductive, but that took more patience, compassion, and discipline. Finding those who always tried too hard socially and giving delicate supportive words. The people with too much responsibility, who lacked the strength to be self-sacrificing, who needed someone that they could lean on. A helping hand here or there, learning they have a problem and solving for them, letting them “discover” it was you that helped them, acting guilty when they, knowing full well it was you, ask if you were responsible. It never mattered the entire relationship was a fabrication; they needed it. The weak always need a story, and they lay down their will to those who offer one.

Edward’s self-aggrandizing reprieve was broken by the sound of piss splattering off brick. He slowed and walked into the alley. He didn’t even have to bother with stealth, the man coming into focus between the old stained walls was sloshed, and judging from how well he was taking the altered state, it wasn't a regular affair.

“Ah, come on, man!” Edward half-whined, loud. The man spun still pissing, mouth working, and you could practically see his two sober brain cells trying to make a connection.

“Jesus! Could you stop that? Look man this is my house, could you not piss on it?” It was probably a warehouse, but he was too drunk to question that.

“Oh, fuck.” He giggled, somehow still urinating, “sorry.”
“What’s your name?”
“Michael”
“Could you put your dick in your pants, Michael?” He complied, looking slightly sheepish — which was all Edward needed.
Edward wiped a hand across his face sighing, “look, where do you live? I’ll help you get home.”

Michael got the address, and Edward offered a hand helping the stumbling man back to his apartment, some six blocks away. Got him inside, Insisted on a glass of water in him and one beside the bed, got him into — well onto — bed without difficulty, opened and shut the front door out of sight of the bed, and waited. It took five minutes for Michael’s breathing to stabilize, Edward waited ten. Edward walked, not bothering to be quiet, into the bedroom. Looming over the bedside, Michael face forward, shoes untied.

A tedious hunt, all in all, Michael was too easy. There was a time when the ease would disappoint Edward, he would sigh and bemoan humanity — much like his previous thoughts. Yet lash out at anyone who questioned his lies, it was the story he needed: the lonely superior being; and that was when he was Kine. He grew out of that. Wasn't really much of a thinking thing, it just got old. He didn't think so highly of himself, he didn't think so little of others — the world had beaten Edward to his knees enough that he knew his place was kneeling.

His Beast made it clear contemplation time was over.

He’d never found an issue with feeding on Kine. The Kindred were meant to rule, and taxation felt good. Edward basked for one final moment in the growing excitation of the Beast, before leisurely leaning down, teeth sinking softly into flesh.