Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of its characters. However all characters, events, and places that do not appear in the natural storyline belong to me. I get nothing out of this but a sense of satisfaction—and making people squirm sometimes.

June 2010

Due to the evolution of writing style and the way the story has grown, I decided, some time ago, that the first original chapters of VH didn't quite fit with the rest of it. And thus began the laborious task of remaking them. They are strongly similar to the original in keeping with the story, but hopefully you'll notice some differences and improvements here or there.

This is the beginning of the revisions, ladies and gentlemen.

Quick notes of notable changes for this chapter:

Ages:

Trunks: 24 years old

Dominique Kellis: Over 300 years old

Satin Sin: Well over 800 years old

[Of course, my sincerest thanks and gratitude to my Official Muse: Shahi!]

If anything proves to be too confusing, or you have comments, questions, or anything, feel free to leave them in the review box! I do enjoy hearing from everyone. :)

Thanks for sticking with me, folks!

And, please, enjoy.

~FND

Chapter 1

The Hunters are Hunted

There were those who would agree that it would be the right thing to do tonight: to patrol the city.

'On patrol'. Fuck patrol. He wasn't patrolling shit. He wasn't a cop or a superhero, wasn't responsible for any of these people. He'd saved the world already, hadn't he? He'd killed the Androids, stopped them before the human race had ceased to exist. He didn't owe humanity another damn thing. That was what he tried to convince himself every single night he went to work. He'd yet to succeed.

No. Screw it. Just screw it. People were ungrateful anyway. Let them save themselves for a change. There was no reason, none at all, for him to risk his soul and his life night after night for people that didn't mean a thing to him. That didn't care a thing for him...

His cobalt eyes were narrowed as he gazed down at the glittering city from his rooftop. The complex was abandoned now, leaving him with only the aging inventions of his mother and grandfather for company. The former technological empire of Capsule Corporation had lost its prestigious glory years ago. It meant that there was never anyone around, and for that he was grateful.

Stupid humans. They didn't appreciate shit. He should've let them get killed, should've stopped this a long time ago. What did it matter to him? His mother and everyone he loved had already died. Why should he give a damn about anyone else? It wasn't like they gave a damn about him... Most of them thought he was a freak, even when he looked after them. He wasn't one of them, and he'd never been very good at pretending to be. After the night he'd had, he was angry, and he was frustrated—with himself as much as with the world at large. No matter how he hated it, resented it, he would always save them. It went against all that he was not to protect.

Disgusted with life altogether, he dematerialized and fazed in to his bedroom. With a sigh, he removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair, his bare torso bathed in white moonlight. The jacket was stained and bloody from the night's raid; he wondered if he should even bother to try and salvage it. His eyes were tired and his shoulders ached from work. It had been a long week. He scrubbed his calloused hands over his face irritably. He didn't get 'weekends' or 'days off' from his job. If he did, it was quite possible that the world would end.

Sometimes he wondered if that was such a bad thing...

"How much time do you spend up there?"

He turned in the dark and glared at the beautiful face hovering outside his window. He wasn't in the mood for visitors—especially ones he couldn't stand for the life of him. Without a glance backwards, he knew that his sword was within arm's reach. He could get it if he needed it. He kept his attention riveted on the newcomer, too well-trained to take his gaze away from her. "I'm busy, Kellis." His voice was impassive, indifferent. "What do you want?"

The pale face was pretty, young and unlined. Her dark hair was loose, straight, tucked behind her ears to keep her vision free. Anyone looking at her would peg her age around late teens; they'd be off by quite a bit. He trusted her about as much as he trusted a rattlesnake—hell, he liked snakes more than he did her. Although it was rare for her for make an appearance, Trunks didn't appreciate the courtesy of a visit. She bent low, peered at him through the crack between glass and windowsill. "I need a place to crash," she answered.

There was an old saying: ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Blue eyes glittered with irritation. "And what the hell makes you think I'd let you stay with me?" he asked stonily, undaunted by the fact that there was a woman standing outside his fifth story window. He'd seen stranger—and far more disturbing—things in these last few years.

She shrugged her shoulders and sent him a calm smile. "You've got the extra rooms. Why not?"

"Go away, Kellis," he grunted, massaging the knot in his right shoulder. "You have that shack in the mountains. Go stay there until I can be bothered to skewer you."

"Oh, come on." Her smile became a pout. "Don't make me beg."

"You've no idea how satisfying that would be." He worked not to make a face at her. God, she annoyed him. "But I want you pleading for your life—not my spare room."

"Just for the morning?" She cast a cautious glance over her shoulder. "I'll be gone before midnight tomorrow. Please?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. He'd never heard the word 'please' from her before. Regardless... He was tired, in no mood to play nice. "How long do you plan on bothering me?" he demanded of her, raking a hand through his wind-tousled lavender hair.

Her green gaze was intent, unwavering. "Until you give in," she replied decisively.

Annoyance heated his blood and thinned his already delicate temper. "Then I take it that Dominique Kellis doesn't understand the word 'no'."

"Bingo." There wasn't a hint of smugness in her voice, as he'd expected. In fact, she seemed almost unusually well-behaved. "I'm not going to go away," she informed him quietly.

Trunks stared at her for a long, hard minute, weighing his options. He'd rather have her in a controlled environment instead of running loose around his property while he attempted to sleep. He was a light sleeper, but he wasn't sure he wanted to take that risk—not with Dominique Kellis. "I can't believe I'm about to let my enemy into my house," he grumbled to himself.

Dominique moved silently as she lifted the glass, slid beneath it. "Technically, we're only business rivals, you know," she said conversationally, climbing over the windowsill. "It's just how the game goes. I don't have anything against you, not personally. Does that mean we can't socialize when you're not working?"

He stared at her incredulously. "You tried to kill me," he reminded her stiffly. "On numerous occasions."

She arched a dark brow speculatively. "Oh, as if you never tried to stick a knife in me."

He kicked off one boot, the other following to thud against the floor. "Stop complaining. I missed, didn't I?"

Dominique smiled, exposing her sharp white teeth. "You know, Mr. Briefs, you're pretty decent for an Executioner. Sometimes I wonder how you ever earned the nickname 'the Hunter'." She tucked her hands in her pockets, rocked lightly on the balls of her feet. Her eyes rested on his ruined jacket. "And then I remember what you do for a living."

Trunks scowled at her, already regretting his brief—and insane—moment of kindness. "My work day's done for now, Kellis. Don't make me have to sign in for overtime." He rested a hand on one of the sharp stilettos of carved wood in the holster hooked to his belt. "You try my patience."

"Mmm... you're a feisty mortal tonight, aren't you?" she murmured, batting her long, ebony lashes at him.

Trunks caught her by her elbow and pulled her towards the door. He would not be toyed with, not tonight, not by a filthy vampire. He knew she was just doing it to get a rise out of him and he was frustrated that she'd succeeded. "Go to bed before you find yourself on the receiving end of my sword," he ordered, shoving her into the hall.

Dominique placed a hand over her heart, a look of feigned distress on her attractive face. "Such cruel words! You've stricken me to the bone, sir!" she simpered.

Trunks raised his fist threateningly. "I'll strike more than that if you don't beat it!" Just because she was a woman didn't mean he wouldn't strangle her.

"Lighten up," she laughed and vanished into the shadows.

Trunks did not appreciate or share her sense of humor. He slammed his door loudly, a slight vent for his frustration. It was engraved with protection spells; there was no worry of Kellis coming through it to terrorize him. With a low string of curses, he turned, stalked the length of the room, and flopped down face-first onto his firm mattress. Damn it, of all the nights to have to deal with Kellis, this was the wrong one. He'd already spent the night staking a nest; he'd had his fill of blood-suckers for one evening.

At twenty-four years old, Trunks Briefs was no longer hunting Androids, but vampires. He had gotten started in the business at the age of twenty, when he had come home one night to find a vampire with her fangs in his mother. Trunks hadn't been able to save her, and once again sought revenge. It seemed to be his lot in life...

It had been relatively easy to start wiping out the vampire race. Their strength was laughable, and their numbers were surprisingly fewer than widely-believed. It'd taken him a couple of years, but now, to his knowledge, there were only two Vampires left.

One just happened to be his present houseguest: Dominique Kellis, formerly Lady Rain Marie of Ireland. Despite being incredibly annoying and in his way, he knew that he could take her out at any time, if he felt like it. Though he'd yet to see her hunt or kill anything in the years he'd known her, she was still a bloodsucking leech. And all leeches needed to be eradicated. But first, there was a bigger fish he wanted dearly to gut and fry.

The other was Chryssatin Sinclair, now known as Satin Sin, from America. She was the one Trunks was after. Chryssatin was the vampire from hell, his number one enemy—and the one who had murdered his mother. She was elusive and manipulative, using her powers of mind-control and seduction to lure victims into her traps. The fools who followed her were numerous and undoubtedly dead. She was the stuff vampire legends were made of.

Trunks had come close to killing Satin last fall when he'd found her in the comatose state that fell over vampires at sunrise. It was chancy finding Satin; she bounced around her various strongholds as often as the moon waxed and waned. It was even chancier finding her asleep. Unless she felt perfectly secure, the vampiress could fight off her sun-sleep as long as she needed to. She was old enough and powerful enough to last for days without sleeping. Trunks had been extremely fortunate to find her vulnerable. It wouldn't have been hard to take her out right then and there.

Except for one little problem. Kellis had still been awake as he'd stood tensely over Satin with his blade. Trunks remembered when she'd opened the door, eyes wide and blue. For a moment, neither of them had moved. Then he'd flung a stake at her, she'd dropped to the ground to duck, and then all he knew was a terrible burning pain across his back.

While he'd been distracted with Dominique, Satin had awakened and raked magically-lengthened nails over his skin as she jerked awake in bed. The result of Dominique's interference had been a nasty swipe of scarring under his right shoulder blade and down across his spine. The scars stopped just short of his left hip and were nearly two inches in width. He looked as if he'd been mauled by a very large cat; only by busting a shaded window had he managed to escape. The vampires had dived to avoid the wide beam of sunlight that had suddenly flooded the room, leaving him to escape. The wounds had required the touch of both holy water and blessed silver, and the pain had been monstrous. He owed her quite dearly for that, he remembered suddenly.

Trunks rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling rafters. Those two were nothing but trouble. They were vampiric Sisters, with Satin as Dominique's Sire. Not only did that mean they shared a great deal of power between them, but it also meant that they were never too distant from each other. To his disgust and fervent anger, having Dominique in Capsule Corp. could only mean that Chryssatin could not be far away.

With a grunt of contempt, Trunks threw his pillow at the wall. He hated Chryssatin, but she happened to be fond of him. Said he was cute. Said she liked strong men. Disgusting creature. He felt his insides knot at the mere thought. By allowing Kellis to stay, he'd practically invited Chryssatin over.

Just what he needed.

"Mmm... Thinking about me, are you, Hunter? I'm flattered."

Well, shit! Trunks sat up and rolled, reaching for his sword, only to feel Satin Sin's cold hand close over his own. Her skin was soft, her grip a steel trap. He cursed himself as a fool for not locking the window after Kellis. Leaving it opened had kept the spell unarmed and allowed the older vampire access.

"Ah-ah-ah... None of that now." Satin easily moved the blade out of reach, her smile slow and warm. "With a welcome so improper, one would think you were not pleased to see me."

Trunks watched flatly as she slid into his bed beside him. Running from her would do no good, and he would not give her the satisfaction of trying to hunt him down. It would appeal to her far too much. "Get out, Chryssatin," he ordered coldly. "I have to deal with your little Sister already. I don't want or need you, too."

Her tawny-gold eyes were low-lidded as she gazed at him appreciatively. She seemed content simply to take him in. "Hmm. I knew Dominique was here." She tilted her head, her dark wavy hair tumbling over one shoulder. "That's not why I came..."

"Then why are you here?" he demanded, his eyes darting to where his sword was. It was a good three feet away, and he had no doubts that Satin could stop him before he got close enough to use it.

Satin eyed his physique, trailing her icy fingers across his chest. His skin was always so firm, so hot against her cool flesh. She'd always enjoyed his fine build and frame, touching him. She was quite aware of his opinion of her; in fact, his stubbornness and lack of submission to her prowess was part of what attracted him to her. The hunt was always half the fun. "I came to see you, of course."

"Isn't it a little late for one of your nightly visits?" Trunks' voice was even, emotionless. He'd learned by this point not to reveal a thing to Satin; she absolutely thrived off the emotions she stirred in people, fed off fear and anger—not to mention lust. She was damned skilled at riling lust, he had to confess—even a fervently devoted priest would fall prey easily to her charms. "You usually don't bother me after two A.M."

Satin laughed softly and ran a hand through his short lavender locks, her eyes remaining locked with his. It had never particularly mattered to her that he was not susceptible to the mind games she could've employed. He was just too entertaining to toy with for her to truly mind the inconvenience. "Am I really that predictable?"

The seduction was wasted on him. "No. You're just really that annoying."

She propped herself on her elbows, stared at him. "I take it, Mr. Briefs, that you don't want me here."

Trunks rose from the bed, pulling away from her gentle, soothing touches. His mind was too strong to be ruled by his traitorous body—most of the time. "It took you long enough to figure it out," he said, frowning down at her.

Damn her and her beauty. Had she been a human and not a murdering monster, Trunks could've possibly seen himself with her. What man wouldn't? Those sharp amber eyes. That jet-black hair rippling down her shoulders. That pale skin, like fresh snow and just as inviting to touch. What man wouldn't dream of running their hands over those curves, taking that sensual mouth? It was fucking infuriating.

The low chuckle in the dark brought his attention back to the vampire before him. She watched him smugly, reclining still on her elbows. "Your mind wants me to go, but it seems the rest of you wants me to stay."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "I'd thank you to stay the hell out of my head," he said tightly.

"I do not have to be in your mind to know want when I see it." Satin lifted and dropped her shoulders delicately. "And, after all, is it my truly fault that you cannot stop thinking about me?" she inquired innocently. "The body desires what it desires, Hunter…"

"It is your fault." He flexed his fingers into fists, concentrated on the sensation. "I wouldn't think about you if you weren't here."

"Oh, but I am here." She smiled ardently, her offerings clear in her expression. "You could put my presence to good use. It has been a long time for you, has it not, Hunter?"

Trunks fought back a shiver as those calculating ocher eyes fastened onto his throat, watching his pulse. He could almost feel her gaze, as if she were still stroking fingers over his skin. The muscles in his stomach tightened. God, he needed her out of here.

"You do not need to fear me," she invited. "I do not bite much."

Damn you, you bitch, Trunks thought vehemently, aiming the oath in her direction. Annoyance flared in those golden eyes of hers. She kept her smile in place, but he could see that she'd heard him. Satin had never been one to handle insults well. "Sorry to disappoint you, Sinclair, but I don't need any new holes in my body."

Satin tossed her head, the black silk curtain of her hair tumbling over her shoulder. "Who said anything about me feeding on you?" she murmured, her voice hinting her irritation. "While I have no doubt that blood such as yours would be divine, you should remember that vampires do hunger in other ways, dear Hunter—just as you do."

"Leave, Chryssatin," he commanded. "I don't need a reason to kill you after all you've done—but you're very close to giving me one more to add to the long list."

She glanced at the open window and cursed her luck softly. "What a pity." Dawn was approaching. There was no more time to play games with her favorite mortal. "It seems as if I have less time than I originally thought, Hunter." Satin rose and went to him, pulling him into a languid kiss that would've melted any other man to their knees in supplication.

Trunks stood stiffly in her embrace, pursing his mouth as tightly as he could. His hand twitched for his sword, so he could attack, attack her now, and get the bitch off of him. He despised the feeling of her frosty hands on his body, her cold lips on his warm ones. He couldn't struggle, wouldn't give her the pleasure in restraining him against her. And he hated the want, the need she could force to stir in him. This had become all too familiar. She enjoyed touching him, especially his scars. Chryssatin loved to touch the one that stretched across his back most of all—she loved it most because she'd given it to him.

Her lips moved to his throat and Trunks pushed her away with the rare violence he sometimes displayed. She kept her footing, laughed softly. He swiped his blade up from the floor and had it aimed at her heart in the time it took to blink. "Get out," he whispered fiercely.

She studied him and his sword with amusement prevalent in her golden eyes. She loved to annoy him, just reveled in pissing him off. It gave her the strangest measure of satisfaction and pleasure. "You've given me my cue to leave, I believe," she murmured, her smile small and charming.

Trunks raised the sword to her throat. His hand didn't tremble as it once had when he was young. He didn't shake at the thought of taking a life—a monster's life wasn't sacred. He knew already that he couldn't kill her this way; she was too fast for him to be able to decapitate her in one slice. But it would force her to keep her distance. "Go. Don't ever come into this place again."

Satin grinned darkly at him and dipped into a lissome curtsy. "As you wish, Mr. Briefs. Although it truly is an old wives' tale, this vampire does not go where she is not wanted." She sauntered by him, her hips swaying tauntingly. "But I'd like to remind you," she whispered as she approached his window, "that my bedroom door is always open for you..." With that, she flashed him a mischievous wink and took off into the fading dark of night.

Trunks growled, and overcome with frustration, he threw his sword, leaving it to bury itself in the wall. The blade thudded and quivered into the old wood. He dropped into bed and proceeded to kill his pillow with teeth and fingers. When the flames of rage and frustration had burned away, the exhaustion rose from the ashes and took him down into a fitful sleep.

FND: And there you have it, my friends. The newly-revised first chapter of VH. Several more will be posted throughout the night and into the morning. Please, let me know how you feel about the changes! Better? Liked it more the other way? Comments, suggestions, unnoticed errors/typos and opinions are greatly encouraged! Click the little button, guys. I'm dying to hear from ya. :D