Since everyone is hopping on the vampire bandwagon (Twilight, True Blood, Anne Rice, Count Chocula), I've decided to get on board as well! You know, 'cause I'm highly susceptible to peer pressure. Don't judge me.

You're judging me, aren't you?

Well, stop. Stop now.

I know I have three other stories I need to update. Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned (or whatever); but school caught up to me much quicker than I ever expected. Finals are coming up pretty soon, but then I'll have the entire summer to write like a romance novelist on meth. Those ladies pump out books like that Duggar women pops out babies. Mrs. Duggar needs to be stopped.

ANYWAYS!

Here is my contribution to the vampire community, since I strongly dislike Twilight.

No offense Twilight fans.

He was watching her again. Whenever she came to the small café, late at night when she finished her last class, that dark eyed man would stare at her. Sometimes it was flattering, when his eyebrows would lift flirtatiously over his lovely eyelashes. Other times it was uncomfortable and unnerving. His narrowed gaze would take on a sharp sort of energy, like he wanted to hunt or just consumer her outright. No matter the underlying emotion, she never responded in kind. The best course of action, when dealing with stalkers, was to just ignore them – no matter how lonely she was.

Lucy had been in Berlin for a little over six months, and her stay hadn't gotten any more comfortable. She didn't speak the language, she had seen every tourist trap there was, like, thirty-seven times, and she was getting nowhere in her studies. She just… wasn't as good as she thought she was. Sure, her passport said she was old enough to drink, but she didn't like beer.

The exchange family had been nice enough, but Frau Knop was a hard woman, and her sons too rowdy to care for the little British girl staying with them. Three of them were still in grade school anyway. Two of them cared for little more than football, lager, and loose women. As for the oldest… he hated her. It was nothing she did, but rather where she was – his bedroom. Herr Knop had decided that is where she would sleep, as guest of the household. Fritz, said eldest brother, said something absolutely foul in German… though he might have been reciting some lovely poem.

Or calling her a foreign bitch with the gates of hell between her legs.

Needless to say, she was having a hard time. She went to school early, came home in the afternoon, and stayed up late pouring over text books. Her life in Germany had not only been dull and lifeless, but isolated. Making friends wasn't her top priority when she first arrived, and because of that, nobody would talk to her – let alone stare at her without shame. It made his gawking all the more intimidating.

The café she was in had once been a small chapel, so there was religious iconography everywhere. It was beautiful and jarring at the same time. The pews were converted into benches for booths and scattered tables. All of the woodwork, intricate and hand-carved, was covered in peeling gold leaf. What Lucy loved best about the café, however, were the stained glass windows. There were six in total, and they were no larger than fireplace screens, but each one was lovingly detailed. Her favorite, and the one she most often sat by, was of the Virgin Mary. Dressed in her blue cloak, she held her dead, grey-skinned son, while a host of mourners wept around her. Lucy was old friends with the image.

Besides the art glass and gothic architecture, Lucy frequented this particular coffee house because it was always quiet. There was always a table where she could complete her homework, and the proprietors were friendly and obliging. It was her sanctuary. That is, until that man started showing up; but there was no point in finding a new haven. This one was three blocks away from the Knop residence, and all of the other cafés would be chock full of unruly students. Finals were coming up. She didn't need the noise.

And so she sat there, sipping a vanilla latte while she fought hopelessly with some rather stubborn algebra problem. The world outside was grey and wet with a cold spring rainstorm, leaving Lucy trapped inside. That was alright. She didn't bother the other patrons, so they wouldn't bother her.

Or so she thought.

A bell chimed as the door to the coffee bar swung open, letting in a shocking gust of frozen wind. Lucy shivered, but she didn't look up. The door closed, but it took a few minutes for the air to warm up. That was no inconvenience at all, though it made her cheeks hurt. What was a nuisance was the groan of the bench just across from her as someone sat down at her table.

"Guten abend, Fräulein. Sprechen Sie Englisch? Mein Deutsch ist schlecht," came a pleasant male voice from the other side of the table. Lucy kept her eyes on her schoolbooks.

"I don't speak German," she said automatically without even looking up.

"Oh good, neither do I. I'm pretty sure I just complemented your yogurt." She heard the rustling of clothing as whoever sat removed their coat. Lucy's eyes rose, peering curiously at the young man who had unexpectedly joined her. He was swarthy with dark brown hair falling around his jaw. His eyes were nearly black, and very cheeky as he looked at her. He smiled a happy smile, his teeth white and perfect from where she sat.

Within seconds of his arrival, an apron-clad waitress with frizzy red hair was at his side, grinning flirtatiously as he placed his order. She walked away with a womanly sway to her abundant hips, but the man with boyish good looks was fixed intently on Lucy. He was soaked to the skin, so much in fact that she could feel the cold coming off him; and yet he kept on smiling, even as he dried his hands on a spare napkin. Lucy could only return his stare with a blank expression – with good reason too.

Slightly distressed under the attention of such a handsome man, she cast a quick glance about the room. There were plenty of empty tables. Actually, it was mostly empty. There were only five of them – her, the smiling young man, that man with the dark eyes, and a rather noisy German couple, probably in their fifties. They were arguing very loudly, and it only sounded that much angrier in German.

"I always wonder what they're saying," he continued in hushed tones. "Eventually, I just add in my own words. For example…" The woman's pitch rose highly, until it was nearly a screech. He leaned across the table to whisper in her ear, and his warm breath against her neck gave her goose bumps. "Albertina bakes mincemeat pies for Ferdinand. He does not like them. Albertina consoles herself by getting breast implants."

Lucy had to duck her head and cover her mouth to keep from laughing, but one giggle did escape. Unseen by her, the man with the dark leer shot her acquaintance an evil glare. As it was, a passing waitress shot her a dirty look.

"Come to dinner with me." The man was whispering into her ear again, and she was immediately drawn to his unusual accent. But still…

"No," she said quickly. "You don't even know my name."

"So, tell me it."

"No."

"Fine, I shall make one up. Sarah? No, too plain. Judith? I could call you Judy. Is Judy close? How about Matilda? Maybe you have a man's name. Charlie? Elliot? Sam?"

"Lucy," she filled in quickly, afraid that he would go on and on. "My name is Lucy."

He fell silent, and for a moment, she thought he was displeased. Maybe he really was just a flirt out to irk her. However, when she looked up at him, he was smiling softly, disarmingly, even affectionately.

"Lucy. I would've figured you as a Vellini or Constantina – something epic and unforgettable."

And that is where he went wrong. Lucy knew she was somewhat under the radar, but her name was forgettable?

His order arrived with the clinking of porcelain. He flashed a disarming smile at the saucy and obviously older waitress. She blushed bright red, and sauntered off like a pleased, arrogant housecat. But he didn't seem to notice her coyness. His black eyes focused on the man who had always, and was still ogling at Lucy. She had to sigh when she realized what he was looking at.

"He always stares at… this table." She didn't want to say 'me' – it sounded too much like vanity.

"You probably smell good to him. I take it you don't drink or smoke?"

'What…?' she thought to herself, looking over her shoulder at the other man briefly. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

He held up a hand to stop her before she questioned her further.

"Do you drink or smoke?"

"No," she said with some pride. "They're both bad for you."

"And they'd probably make your skin taste bad."

Color bloomed on her cheeks like the blush of a peach. "Excuse me! What are you insinuating?"

"He's a vampire," he said nonchalantly with a slight shrug. "They have to get past your skin if they want to drink of you."

Her eyes were as wide as saucers as her mouth fell open. He followed her lips intently with that inky stare. "A vampire? Preposterous!"

He was knocked from his reverie by her disbelief. "Why not? He only comes here late at night and he never orders anything. Am I wrong?"

That was a highly suspicious remark, and her expression betrayed that opinion. "How would you know that?"

"Because he's a vampire," he quipped as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And you're a healthy young woman with a fine figure and a pretty face. Most male vampires don't think of anything else while they're still conquering their bloodlust. Sex hasn't probably even crossed his mind yet."

"Has it crossed yours?!" she seethed with a hiss. He was making her uncomfortable now. He was right about everything, as if it was a putrid odor that hung in the air, stinking up the whole place. 'Wait… an odor?'

"How did you know that I don't drink or smoke?" Her voice trembled with uncertainty. She didn't believe in fairy tales, and vampires were the stuff of myth and bad fiction, but everything he said made awful sense. Maybe the dim light and caffeine was making her head spin.

"You don't smell like it," he said with careful measure. He was focused and intent, all intensity and energy, even though he was deathly still. "You smell whole."

Her heart beat furiously in her chest, making her quiver from the exertion of such a mere thing. Something was very wrong with this beautiful man with his beautiful eyes and jaw line. She could see it now, something otherworldly about this dark man, something ageless and youthful.

"Vampires aren't real," she murmured softly. "You aren't real."

His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, and those eyes fell matte and lifeless. If she'd hurt him at all, she didn't bother to wait. Faster than a dragonfly's beating wings, she was up and walking away, her expensive text books abandoned carelessly.

"Wait!" he called after her rather loudly, drawing the attention of nearly everyone – except for Lucy. She just walked faster. Before she knew it, she was out the door and on the cobblestone street.

"Lucy, stop! Please, I am begging you to stop." That was enough to stop her, and she spun on her heel to face him. He stood at the base of the café's steps.

"Why should I?!" she called back. It was pitch black now, and they rain still fell. Within seconds she was drenched and freezing. "Either you're a raving lunatic, or I am serious trouble right now. People always say 'this can't be happening', but it is happening. So please, excuse me."

She didn't see him move, but in the blink of an eye he was right in front of her. This close she could get a good whiff of him. Surprisingly, he smelled like lavender and cedar, so unlike a coffin or a tomb. More than that, he was warm, so warm. He was taller than her, but not so much that he overwhelmed her; and every inch of him radiated a most inviting heat. She thought it was just his smile, but when he cupper her chilled cheek in his palm, his touch chased away her coldness… and her indifference. With that one caress, with that calloused palm, he warmed from the inside out. There was something thick and heady about him, and she stepped closer so that she could feel it that much stronger.

"I am not a raving lunatic, and neither are you in serious trouble," he whispered against her forehead as her eyes closed of their own volition. His mouth was chapped and just as warm as the rest of him. "I promise not to bite you," he said so sweetly, even as he leaned back. Without his body shielding her from the storm, her face was drenched the moment he pulled away. Her lashes, spiked with rain, fluttered as her eyes opened slowly. She looked drugged and sated.

"What are you doing to me?" she questioned breathlessly. He was staring at her mouth again, and not her throat. Wasn't that a good thing?

"Making you happy," he responded with the same winsomeness she was feeling. "Is that so terrible?"

"Will I be dead by morning?" He laughed, and it made her blood pool like melted chocolate.

"Exhausted maybe. Perhaps even a little tender. But I will be as well."

She had enough presence of mine left to look stern. "I'm not easy."

He grinned. "And I am not bad in bed. I promise to be good to you.

"Give me your name," she insisted determinedly. "Now."

"Caspian," he breathed ever so softly. She felt blessed for some reason, like he didn't share his name with people that often.

"I'm an exchange student. I don't have a house of my own." Was it an excuse or a regret?

"I have a house." He sounded so eager and boyish that she had to laugh.

"Why me?" She almost didn't want to know, but the moment would be incomplete if there wasn't a reason for her blossoming infatuation.

"Do you think that man in there is the only one who watches you? I know your face and body – your cheeks, your lashes, your hips. Unlike him, I could only think about how lonely you looked."

She meant to turn away, ashamed that he could read her so easily, but he pinched her chin lightly and tilted her face towards his. "I've felt that same loneliness. Besides anyone who studies as hard as you do must be more than capable of carrying on a decent conversation."

"If you bite me, I will stake you."

He rolled his eyes. "You humans are convinced that works."

"Kiss me before this spell wears off and I change my mind."

He did just that as the rain fell around them, before she changed her mind. As cold and unrelenting as the downpour was, it couldn't stop Caspian's balmy embrace or Lucy's sudden comfort.

'If all vampires kiss like this,' she thought to herself, 'then maybe this is something worth looking into.' The thought came unbidden and it struck her to the core. What would sensible, unerring Peter think?

'To hell with Peter.' She had Caspian to think of.

And she thought of him all night long, even when he stole her sanity.

Especially when he stole her sanity.

Well, there it is! Short and sweet, huh?

Huh? Huh?!

Oh hell, who am I kidding?

This needs an official ending.

'Lucy.'

Even after a night in her arms, he still dreamt of her. They'd enjoyed each other for hours, and by the time they had finished, he was pleasantly exhausted. All men of his kind had extraordinary stamina, their women demanded it. So to be completely undone by a human was incredible. She made his bones sing with exertion until his muscles ached. And yet he still had to force himself to stop, if only for her sake.

She had told him, just before slumber claimed them, that he was much warmer than she thought dead people were. He had not the strength to tell her he had never died, but he would save that for when he thought she was ready to hear it.

As much as he wanted to give her the best wake-up call she would ever receive, he was embarrassed to find that he could barely move, let alone perform.

If he couldn't find gratification on a sexual level, he was determined to at least hold her. She was unbelievably soft, and smelled absolutely wonderful. He would never ask it of her, but he knew by instinct that she would taste magnificent. Thank God he didn't need to drink, otherwise she would be in grave danger.

Though his arms felt like they were anchored to the bed, he reached out for her, but her lithe, svelte body was nowhere to be found.

"You've got to be kidding me," he groaned pathetically. Was she really going to make him get up? "You have three seconds to get back in bed before I… I dunno, but it'll be impressive."

Three seconds passed, and she never showed up. He sighed. It seemed he would have to go after her himself, even though she was rude enough to leave without telling him. Dragging himself out of bed, he seemed more like a zombie than a self-respecting vampire, lurching about from his bedroom to the living room. However, it was almost worth it when he saw a rather frantic Lucy fighting with some drapes.

"What are you doing?" he yawned. Lucy squeaked, and in her surprise, pulled down an expensive set of Dupioni silk panels and the bar holding them up.

"I… uh…" She looked down helplessly at the dark brown fabric pooling around her ankles. "I didn't want you to burst into flames," she finished weakly.

"I'm not that kind of vampire. Now come to bed."

She bristled at the command, which he found adorable, but followed him anyway. The situation called for something romantic, like picking her up bridal-style, but he was just so tired. He practically collapsed onto the king-sized bed. Lucy was the one to pull the comforter over them.

"Please tell me you're tired. Otherwise I have completely failed you."

"I can barely walk," she supplied dreamily, soothing his fragile ego with just four words. "Now let me sleep. I have class in the afternoon."

"I'll let you go, only if you promise to let me pick you up. From now on, I don't want you going to the café alone. There could be some lingering jealousy on behalf of the vampire who'd been stalking you."

"Am I in any danger?" she whispered sleepily as he curled around her.

"No." She wasn't, and she wouldn't be, not for as long as he could hold her; and he had forever to hold her.

She would be safe for some time to come.

I know, I know. This was a one-shot in 'Standing Alone', but one of my favorite reviewers I suggest I let it be its own story.

So, here it is.

Who knows! Maybe it'll turn into something bigger than a one-shot.