Snow France

Nikolas sat at the end of the bar, sipping on a heavy beer. It humored him to see the bartender's expression as he ordered glass after glass, not even getting the tiniest bit tipsy. Being a vampire, it's hard to make him intoxicated. Glancing around, his eyes landed on this young woman wearing a unique ensemble.
The woman wore a tiered skirt, long in the back and short in the front. It was a lovely royal blue with white lace that trimmed the edges. Her hair was a frazzled brunette with streaks of blue. She brought a martini to her lips and Nikolas smiled in delight. She was a young witchling, no doubt.
The vampire grabbed his glass and downed the rest of his drink before slithering his way over to the young female. He could smell the blood pulsating through her veins. Out of all the supernaturals and humans he had the displeasure of meeting, hers smelled the sweetest.
The witchling turned her head to look at him and a polite smile graced her lips. Nikolas took this as an invitation and took a stool next to her, ordering another beer for him and a martini for the woman. Retracting his fangs, he turned to her and was met was beautiful mossy eyes; the mark of a true witch.
Grinning, the vampire extended his hand to her and when she took it, he placed a kiss upon her flesh. The woman giggled and brushed a curl from her face. The man always had a thing for curls. Most of his victims and donors have such hair. It seemed as if their blood always tasted sweeter.
"My dear, you are by far the most enchanting creature in this tavern," he flirted, drawing her in so that she could not resist. She was his prey and she was going to have him, forcefully or peacefully. Preferably though, he did not want her kicking and screaming.
Her eyes truly did enchant him, the darkness that resided deep inside her revealed the power she held within. Taking another swig of his beer, Nikolas chatted with the woman, lulling her into a false security. Things were going along swimmingly before the pulsating of her blood attracted his inner predator. His fangs grew and peeked through his lips, warning the witchling of the dangers he possessed.
Anger flashed across her eyes and she stood swiftly, obviously insulted to have fallen for his charm. No witch could bare the shame of falling prey to a creature of the night that killed the innocents. Grabbing the water she ordered after her third martini, the witchling threw it upon his face, drenching the man.
A growl rumbled deep in his throat as he stood, knocking his stool over. His eyes turned to slits as he grabbed the woman's neck, tightening his hold as he lifted her off the ground. The tavern grew silent at the spectacle, wanting to interfere with the manhandling of a woman but couldn't. The aura that surrounded the man was blazing with anger, the atmosphere too tense for anyone to move.
"You will regret that you virgin," he roared, throwing the witchling across the bar top. Gasping, she winced in pain, her mind too disoriented to think of a single spell that could save her. Nikolas had reached her once more by the time she stood and had his hand around her throat once more.
Her nails pierced his skin as she raked them across his hands, trying to free herself. Tears were streaming down her face and nothing but fear swirled in those mossy eyes. Nikolas bent down to bite her pale neck when her sounds pleas for mercy turned into a bargain.
"Please sir, I beg of you. My blood is not so sweet. There…there is a child in London. Her mother was once one of the few with rare blood, delicious to all who taste it. Her daughter is still a virgin. Her blood is still pure. Please, take her and spare me!"
Nikolas considered this for a moment. The witchling was an idiot for revealing all the information before the deal was complete. Had she made him give her his word, she would have lived to see another day. However, he had all that he needed. With a smirk, her leaned down to her ear and whispered with a cruel and heartless laugh, "Thank you my dear."
His fangs pierced the skin of her neck, the tip slicing open a vein and he sucked upon it, drawing out all her blood. The virgin witchling was drained dry and when Nikolas had his fill, he discarded her to the floor. She was no longer needed and the humans that now stared at him in shock and fear recoiled. They did not wish to be his next victim.
Licking his lips, the vampire stepped over the dried out woman and left the bar, prepared to leave at once for London. He was quite interested in the child the witchling mentioned. If there really is such a child then he was determined to be the one to take her blood.