A/N: I started writing this little ficlet for the Ho Hey Contest – inspired by the song by The Lumineers. I didn't manage to finish in time (actually…it's not finished yet, haha), but I still wanted to put it up! Be sure to check out the other entries in the contest; voting is now open! (/u/4392156/Ho-Hey-Contest)

I may have another entry in there… :)

Disclaimer – I do not own Twilight. Rated M for language and dark themes.

Chapter 1

BLOOD

It's raining the first night she calls to me.

I'm seated in a dark corner of the bar, blending into the shadows as usual, scouring the crowd for something appealing. Something…sweet. Everything these days has been sour, much too sour. It's almost as bad as going without. I need a change of pace.

I watch. I listen.

A man at the bar eyes a pair of legs attached to a blonde model-type who's way beyond his league.

*Damn, so fucking hot. How can I get that in my bed? Just need to get her a drink. Ok, maybe more like ten drinks. Wait a sec…shit, she's with him? Never mind.*

Blondie attaches herself to a debonair businessman and proceeds to smear her lipstick all over his face.

Sour.

Moving on.

A young couple holds a stilted conversation at a table near the entrance. Every time the door opens, they each sneak a peek, hoping the other won't notice. If a man enters, the girl sighs and looks back down, while the boy appraises him through narrowed eyes. If it's a woman, the roles are reversed.

I wonder how common the name *Jacob Black* is, because they're both thinking it. They're both looking for the same person, and yet they're both hoping that he doesn't show up. What a conundrum.

And he's walking down the block right now, headed towards this place. I've never heard someone so in love with themselves that they constantly think their own full name. Otherwise, my only clue would have been the looks on all three of their faces when he stops short in the doorway.

He's a good-looking guy: dark skin, tall, rough build. But even that doesn't help him when he gets a slap to the face and a punch to the gut. Seems like now that there's a common enemy, the couple's earlier feud is long forgotten. They're all cheesy smiles and "I'm sorry's" and "I love you's."

Too fucking sour.

I might owe a favor to Jacob someday, though. He beats a hasty exit back to the door, and as he slips through I catch the first whiff of my newest fixation.

Because I'm already obsessed. I'm up out of my seat and out the door before it closes behind him. Nobody notices. Why would they? In the shadows, I'm invisible.

This is where I belong.

Outside, I pull in a deep breath of damp air. I can taste a hint of the aroma on my tongue, but because of the rain it's hard to get a good read on direction. It's a bit stronger to the right, so I pivot and take off that way. If I wait too long, the scent will be washed away, and I can't have that. Only the slightest trace already has me hooked; I want to find the source. Need to find it.

Something to dilute the sour.

I move along at a brisk pace, for a few reasons. For my kind, the speed is comfortable; no one can see me; and it ensures that I don't get wet.

You know that movie where the guy learns to react quickly by swiping his hand through falling water droplets without getting hit? Yeah, that's a fucking joke. Forget running fast enough to dodge the raindrops – way too much work. I'm just running faster than them. Period.

I can already tell I'm catching up. I begin to pick out different flavors in the air – some kind of fruit, a flower, perhaps nectar? It's quite the enticing combination. Somehow it overpowers every other scent that has crossed its path.

It's tempting, intoxicating, arousing.

Delicious…

I want.

Suddenly, it cuts off; I've reached the end of the trail. But the scent here is slightly old, and there's no one in sight. What the hell? I skid to a stop, looking around, confused. Humans can't just vanish into thin air.

I should know – otherwise it'd be so much easier to deal with the bodies.

But I digress.

Taking in my surroundings, I groan loudly when I realize what has happened. I'm standing on a street corner. Right next to a bus stop. Seriously? I fucking hate busses, almost as much as I hate airplanes. A bunch of sweaty humans crammed into a little tin can? Now that's a recipe for disaster – especially if you throw me in there with them.

While I expect I could easily track down the vehicle, I find myself losing the enthusiasm for this wild goose chase. The night was already lacking promise, and now, the scent of my dreams – if I could have them – is gone. It's just one more reminder that there's no reward to living this life.

Or death. Whatever.

I haven't gone too far from the bar, so I decide to head back. There isn't anything better around here anyway. When I get within a few blocks, I can suddenly make out the sound of a woman's scream. And yet, nobody on the street is reacting – with good reason.

She's screaming mentally. From what I can tell, she is currently physically unable to make noise.

And inside her mind…it's terrifying. The images are jumbled, distorted. But not badly enough that I can't put together the pieces to paint a picture of what's been done to her.

Already frustrated with my evening, I choose to forgo returning to the bar and make do with what I've stumbled upon here. I reach the right spot, peering down a dark alley. How typical.

Just as I start to head on in, a man appears at the entrance, trying to shuffle past me. He keeps his head down, hands in his pockets, a neutral expression carefully plastered on his face. But I can tell. Not just from what I saw in the girl's mind. Nor from the way his shirt is partially untucked, or the faint red scratches on the backs of his arms, or from the paranoid glance he gives me out of the corner of his eye.

It's not even the way his own thoughts are racing a mile a minute, trying to justify what he's done and figure out how to get away with it.

I absorb all of this, cementing his guilt in my book, but there's just one more thing that pushes me over the edge.

I can smell her on him.

And that's not the type of scent that any woman would ever want to leave on a man.

He doesn't have time to register my movement before his neck is snapped and his body crumpled on the ground. I know the corpse will get cold quickly, but he's not the one I want. This is to ensure he doesn't make any noise to alert the others.

Because yes, there are others: four more, down at the end of the alley. Three of them hovering over the prone figure on the ground, the last leaning confidently against the wall, watching. The smirk on his face and his unzipped pants tell me he's already had his fun. I've got my eye on that one.

Hello again, Mr. Businessman.

I stroll forward, tipping an imaginary hat as I call out, "Evening, gentlemen."

It's amusing to watch all of their heads whip around in unison.

The three dogs are torn between fight and flight. Should they make excuses, claim their innocence, and escape? Or should they challenge my presence? I am outnumbered, after all. They instinctively turn to look at their leader - *King* as he likes to be called - for guidance.

He's just staring at me, searching. I stare back. After a minute, his smile falters a bit. He's done pretty well, but humans just can't meet my eyes for long before they start feeling…strange. He won't be able to last much longer. Since I know what he wants to see, I give it to him. I raise an eyebrow. Throw in a smirk.

He instantly relaxes. He thinks he's met someone like him.

Can I kill him yet?

Just hold on.

King nods in the direction of the girl, an open invitation. I turn and kneel in front of her, actually looking straight at her for the first time. She's in bad shape. I could go into more detail, but that just about sums it up. She won't make it very long.

"Hey, Blondie," I murmur. I trace my fingertips lightly over the swollen bruises on her face.

From her mind, it seems that what she'd really like to do right now is bite my hand off, although she lacks the strength to move. I chuckle to myself – she's still got some fight left in her.

"Sorry, but that won't really help. Is there anything else I can do for you, though?"

I stare directly into her eyes. She knows what I'm asking. I'm giving her a choice - because that's what I would have wanted.

I know that if my…father…had found her like this, he would not hesitate. She'd be one of us before even I could blink. And although I think I would have chosen the same ending anyway, I've come to realize that there are some times when you absolutely need to be in control. Such as deciding what to do with your own life – even if that means giving it up.

Forever is a long time for regret.

Not that I'm itching to turn her. I don't even know if I'd go through with it, even if it was her choice. But that's something to think about later.

She's conjured up a picture of a little boy, bouncing black curls and bright eyes. He looks nothing like her, but the feeling of love surrounding the image is extremely strong.

"Yours?"

She pictures another woman holding the child. Nothing special about her, except that she looks…happy. Something about the crinkles near the corners of her eyes. It's not something that I see often when I look in the mirror, and I get the feeling that Blondie is the same. It doesn't take long for me to understand.

"No…you'd never get that if you were like me."

Her answer then is firm. *No.* If she can't have the one thing she's always wanted, then it isn't worth it. Without even knowing the full extent of the price.

I envy her, then. Not because of her current situation, of course. But because she knows. In just the few short years she's been on this earth, she knows what she wants. I'll have forever, and there's no way of knowing if I'll ever find that for myself. After searching for it, for how many years now…

I nod in response, and stand. The boys have been getting antsy, watching me with her, so it's about time for the main event.

"Pick one," I tell her. She pictures King. Obviously. "And the others?" She doesn't care. "Got it. I'll get them out of your way."

They're easy enough to take care of, huddling together just a few feet away. Not wanting to soil her resting ground, or ruin the grand finale, I avoid spilling any of their blood. Three quick cracks, and it's done. A shabby heap on the concrete.

Blondie's surprised, but happy. I grin, turning to King. I'm pretty sure he hasn't blinked, gaping at what used to be his friends.

Slowly, he turns my way.

Adrenaline. Fear. I can taste it.

The blood is pumping through his veins in a mad rush. It can – and will, very soon – escape him, but not me. I stalk towards him, and there's nowhere for him to go. Knowing how much pain he's inflicted, I decide to have a little fun. I slow my steps, faltering a little, feigning weakness. Just as predicted, he thinks it's his chance. He swings a fist.

Crack.

Ouch, that's gotta hurt. Three knuckles completely busted. He howls in pain. I chuckle.

What a beautiful sound.

I grab his arm, pulling him to stand in front of my eager audience. His collar rips away easily, exposing his neck to us both. She wants to see everything. I oblige.

His eyes are clenched shut, body visibly trembling. I lower my nose to his skin, inhaling deeply.

"Look at her," I growl. He's too afraid to disobey. "Look at what you've done."

He's whimpering out excuses, apologies, pleas for me to let him go. An endless stream of background noise. Just before I lean in to end it, I catch the tone of regret in his voice, mirrored in his thoughts.

I pause.

Every fucking time. Get over it already!

It's been years, and yet I still stop myself at the exact same moment. The point of no return. I just can't continue without asking: Am I doing the right thing?

He deserves it.

But am I the one to make that judgment?

If not you, then who? Who else can punish him for what he's done? What they've all done?

I don't know…

Look at her. She needs this.

I look over at Blondie. She's slipping away fast. But her eyes are still gleaming, filled with the hope that she'll be granted this one last favor.

Usually I can save them. The victims. But if not - if I'm too late - they very rarely get the chance to see justice done.

I can't resist those eyes.

Without further delay I sink my teeth into his neck, moaning in pleasure as the first rush of blood hits my throat. Warm, smooth, thick. I swallow greedily, slurping at the rich liquid. When the first wave starts to slow, I lessen the pace of my pulls. I draw them out, relishing in each wince of pain that crosses King's face. I know that the slower I go, the more excruciating it will feel.

It feels…so good. Make it last.

I try to concentrate on the texture, not the taste. There's always something a little bit…off, with the targets I choose. Never as sweet as I want it. Sometimes it's sour, but mostly-

Bitter.

That's right. Bitter, like the loss of happiness and innocence. Like everything good has already been drained out of him.

Like I imagine Blondie would feel if she woke up like me.

It's ironically a bittersweet feeling when I finally drop him to the ground, completely dry. Almost simultaneously, the light fades from the girl's eyes and her heart stutters to a stop. Everything is silent.

I'm alone once again.

How are we doing so far? Want to see more? Let me know!