Noting the many bestsellers with “Paris” in the title, as well as the overwhelming quantity of romance novels featuring a bare-chested guy in a kilt on the cover, I have arrived at the perfect bestseller:
A Scottish Vampire in Paris
Marie gazed at the shimmering sparkles coursing through the Tour d’Eiffel with its hourly special effects. “Curse that dreadful bagpipe!” she muttered. It wasn’t the volume of it so much as the quality of timbre that got on her nerves. Here it was 23h30 and she had a 6h appointment in the morning.
She found her mind drifting for some reason to the clinic where she had recently seen all the canisters of blood, neatly labeled in rows behind the glass-doors of the refrigerator.
Why did the image trigger pangs of hunger?
Angus McShea brushed a tear from his eye, laying down the pipes with their plaid-cloth bag. The old highland reels always moved him this way. Sighing, he assumed his bat form and flew to hang upside-down from the upper ledge of the window. The lights of the Eiffel Tower upside-down reminded him of a giant Y. His ultra-sensitive ears picked up a cry for help.
“Aha!” thought Angus. “A ne’er-do-well is creating some mischief. An ideal target, as nobody is willing to ever investigate when those kind meet an untimely demise.”
Senses alert, he flitted away into the night, descending from his 5eme étage attic roost into the warm illumination of the Paris streets.
He soon found the assailant and prey, a large muscular yet obese man wielding a knife toward a beautiful young lady with dark skin and curly hair. The predator would make a delightful feast, once becoming the prey.
Landing adroitly, he rematerialized into his human form. “Good evening.” His resonant voice vibrated all around.
The two looked over and the woman screamed.
It was at that moment that Angus remembered that he has donned the kilt but not yet the shirt before departing.
“Pardon me, miss. Don’t worry or fret. I’m here to save you! To release you from this uncouth burden which you have unduly acquired.” He gestured to the ne’er-do-well.
“Buzz off, scum,” growled the malfaiteur. “I don’t need any help from you.” he strode over menacingly, now brandishing two knives at the thin and frail Scotsman before him. “Here, let’s see what you got.” He lunged, slashing.
“Two, eh?” Angus cocked his head. In a flash, both of his hands locked round the wrists of the malfaiteur in a steel grip. The scoundrel struggled for several minutes with no result. He could not budge either hand. The grip of the vampire cut into his flesh like cold steel.
“Why you lousy…” the scoundrel head-butted Angus as hard as he could. If felt like bashing his head against a stone sculpture. A nasty red spot spread in the middle of his forehead, and he wavered unsteadily, dropping both knives.
Angus deftly caught the two of them by the handle before they touched down. The bandit hit the ground like a sack of rotten cabbages. Angus studied the two blades briefly before dismissing them with a snort and tossing them into a nearby garbage can. They rattled against the plastic sides of the hollow bin.
Angus strode over to the collapsed villain and lifted him rudely by the armpits, still unconscious. He turned to the would-be victim and grinned. “This might be an opportune moment for you to run away.”
The woman with dark curly hair swooned. “I wish I could, but my legs betray me, for I am so irrevocably drawn to your bare manly chest and your brazen display of courage and strength!”
Angus looked down. “You’re sure it’s not the kilt?”
She shook her head, then hesitated. “Well, maybe the both of them together.”
“I warn you, fair lass!” he cried. “You do not want to watch what will happen next! For I am a terrible vampire and about to feast upon this vile ne’er-do-well!”
“Oh, but I am so drawn to you, I feel I must embrace the full morally ambiguous dark recesses of your deep subconscious, your demons and anxieties with all the rest!”
Angus shrugged. “Ok.” He tore out a chunk of the blaggard’s neck, causing blood to squirt and gush in all directions, in fact making rather a mess. Angus lapped voraciously.
“On second thought,” said the woman, “could you tell me how to reach the nearest métro stop from here? I’m a bit lost.”
Angus pondered, the entire lower half of his face crimson with blood. “the Porte de Villette stop is over that way. Onto the next street and you make a left, I think.”
“Got it. Thank you so kindly.” She curtsied. “And thank you for coming to my rescue. How can I ever repay you?”
Angus looked down. “Dinner,” he said, holding up the limp, dripping body.
“I see. Well, so very enchanted to meet you! I must be going now!” and she scurried off in the direction Angus had pointed.
“No worries!” he called after, but she was gone. He shrugged, and returned to his voracious feeding.