Times had changed. The rage and hate he felt towards the men who killed his little sister and turned him had all but vanished. It was replaced by an infatuation for a human. Why her? Why Starling? What about her, had his icy blood boiling? This would turn out to be one of his favourite hunts.
It had been some time since he walked around during the day. Hannibal Lector sat on a bench at a park watching pigeons flock about. Each one trying to eat the bread and seed an old woman was tossing out of a bag, to the ground at her feet. Lector closed his sunglass covered eyes and let the sounds of the world around him fill his ears. You see, Hannibal Lector was not a normal person. Some wouldn't even consider him a person at all, come to think of it. No. It's true he was different. He was a vampire. No, vampires don't burn in the sunlight, and Hannibal, quite personally, found the idea of a glittering vampire to be rather amusing. As long as they avoid too harsh of sunlight and keep their sensitive eyes shielded, they could walk freely in the day. The worst that would happen is they get a headache that would rival a migraine.
Our dearest Lector loved to watch humanity. He loved to pick out those who were civilized from those who were rude from a bad day or just rude to be rude. If there was one thing Lector hated was uncivilized people. In fact, they were his choice meal, aside from the occasional flutist who was always off key. That one performance still plays in his head. The entire orchestra, every last one, in sync with one another, except for that one flutist. Hannibal made a nice easy dinner out of him after the show.
Lector sighed as the woman stood to leave. He opened his eyes and watched as she hobbled off down the walk way. Every shuffle of her feet. Every click from her cane. Every sound, of every breath she took. Every beat of her heart and the rush of blood that it pumped. Hannibal heard it. He felt his teeth ache for the kill, his senses sharpen in preparation. He stood, shoving one hand in his pocket and the other hand through his hair.
Hannibal looked no older than 25. He was well built, but not buff. He didn't need to look strong. He was never one to impress anyone. He never needed to nor wanted to. He always dressed cleanly. Just because he was a monster, didn't mean he acted like one. He wore dark wash jeans, a dark sweater and a medium length black coat. It was cold out and, despite the weather having no effect on him, he didn't like to stick out.
Hannibal left the park and started to wander around the city. The sun was setting and it caused unease throughout the human populace. Lector mentally scoffed. Humans were always afraid of the dark. It made hunting more fun. A snap of a twig here, a clink of a can against cement there. It sent a rush of adrenaline through the blood that made it rich.
Hannibal was lost in his thoughts as a soft wind blew against his chiseled face that made him go rigid. His eyes quickly scanned the surrounding area. The street. The alley. The windows to the bar across the street. Nothing. He took in the air through his nose. That smell was unbearably, luscious. His eyes narrowed on the source. A woman? Silently, Hannibal followed her. He gained. Or did she slow? Lector didn't know. He made his way closer and closer until he finally pulled her into the next alley, his arm was across her shoulders to hold her to the wall and a hand was over her mouth to keep her from screaming.
Hannibal's body was tense and ready to strike. He would kill her and feed from her.
His fangs extended at the smell and sound of her blood being pushed at a faster rate, through her veins. He could smell the adrenaline. She wasn't afraid though. Hannibal stared down at her, his eyes into hers. She had such beautiful eyes. For a moment, he didn't want to kill her but keep her. As a pet, perhaps.
Lector kept one hand on her mouth as he moved his other one and pressed the side of his forefinger to his lips making a shushing noise almost too quiet to hear.
"I will ask a question, receive an answer, and those will be the only sounds coming from this alley other than the rat digging through the trash can. Do you understand?" Hannibal's tone was not harsh, or demanding, or even threatening. But the tone of his voice made it clear that nothing good would come of disobedience.
The woman nodded and Lector removed his hand from her mouth.
"Name," he started.
"Clarice Starling."
Hannibal flinched. Even her voice was captivating. He continued. "Family?"
"No."
"Why?"
"They died…"
Hannibal frowned. "What is a woman like you, doing in the back streets of the bad part of town, alone?"
At this, Starling smiled. "I can handle myself." Her tone was almost a threat.
Hannibal's control was slipping further and further. He was so close. Her voice, her scent, her heat.
Lector pinned her to the wall, sliding one leg between hers so she couldn't move. One hand slid up the back of her neck into her hair and held tightly, exposing her neck, while his other arm slid around her waist pulling her close. Starling let out a small hiss of pain as her body cringed. Hannibal sunk his fangs into her neck, tapping into one of the major arteries, perfectly.
Clarice was shocked. He bit her. Who the hell does that!
Hannibal drank in bliss until he heard the sound of a gunshot ring throughout the night. He was surprised when his body stumbled back. He looked down and saw blood starting to pour from his stomach. He looked at Starling who was holding her neck with one hand and a hand gun with another. The gun pointed at him. Another shot and Hannibal was on the ground, unconscious.
