A/N: A big shout out to my first two reviewers—RedDeathLvr and SarahNoir! Thank you so much! As you will soon see, this isn't going to be like other Vampire Erik stories. You know the drill so make me happy and leave behind some lovely reviews.

Chapter 2

The pain was brief but right away he knew something was wrong.

Something dreadfully wrong.

Gazing towards the black-hair vixen, Luciana smirked as his blood… his! dribbled down her mouth and chin. Her fangs glistened as he trembled with the words she spoke next:

"Now… you will destroy all that you loved."

In an instant, she was gone. He lifted a hand to the juncture where his neck met shoulder, finding fresh blood. Staring transfixed by the brightening red, he felt a shudder as his body lurched and screamed with pain.

Falling to his knees, he held his head as his heart began to beat faster and faster. A thunderous drone roared in his ears, his sight blurring as a thick fog settled over him. Gasping and crying out, he succumbed to the dizzying sensations that swarmed all around.

His mouth felt heavy and ached as a foreign substance slitter down, stabbing his lower lip and scratching his mask. With a roar, he ripped it off and jumped to his feet.

He felt…odd but as his mind began to clear; a wondrous and amazing feeling took over.

He could hear, see, smell, and taste the world around him. The choking aroma of the ladies of the night perfumes permeated the atmosphere; the whispered secrets and promises were heard as if they stood by him. But the best that sent tingly crawls down his spine was the scent of blood-blood that boiled and flowed with pure ecstasy.

He turned and stalked towards the direction of the delicious smell where he could hear a female crying out in ecstasy…

Erik started in his coffin. What could pass as a mist glazed his eyes as the memory of his first feeding frenzy replayed in his tormented mind. Christiana's horrified look would forever haunt him as he sunk his teeth into her pulsing throat. Later, he discovered that Luciana had compelled him to kill her, but it didn't matter that he wasn't in control of his facilities. The fact remained—he had killed the love of his life. Of his mortal life. And as a result, he also destroyed his other love—Music.

After Christiana's death, his inspiration was gone. No longer could he listen to the glorious music of the night. It had left him, abandoned him to an eternity of emptiness and loneliness.

Everyday, every night as he walked the earth Erik could never forget that dreadful night after he turned. He knew that was Luciana's intent and he was truly stuck in Hell. Without his music, he was nothing.

With a roar, Erik fled the opera house. His sanctuary was a shell, a place to hide during the day, but when he could roam free, he had to escape.

The night was calm, the moon bright. And he wasn't alone.

Passing by was a young couple that thought it would be romantic for a midnight stroll, holding hands as the man bent down to whisper and kiss his girlfriend.

Last night's kill still flowed through his veins and he didn't need to feed, but looking at the passionate display before him only made him want to turn their happiness into cries of horror.

Yet… the notion didn't have the appeal like it used to when he stumbled upon other couples.

They were rather fortunate.

As he hurried past them, he sensed the girl's piercing eyes at his back and the rising scent of arousal. It made him smirked that only he could cause such emotion while her paramour's kiss couldn't do the trick. He could turned around and easily take her from her lover, but tonight… his mind was filled with his embittered memories and he wished to be alone.

After being bitten, his looks were transformed back to when he was a younger man, erasing the aging marks. His body altered too; adding more muscle to his arms and legs, as well as making his thin, wispy hair longer and fuller. Despite his deformity remaining the same, he was the very essence of a seductive predator of the night. The mask served to add to his mysterious allure that all of his female victims couldn't help but fall for. He didn't even have to use his compulsion to make them fulfill his wishes.

Well… until they discovered what he was.

There was one time when he asked one of his victims, a silly girl from the ballet who was too naïve for her own good, what was worse—his face or the blood-thirsty creature? He never did get the answer he was looking for… she spent her last remaining seconds screaming as he ripped into her. That's all they ever do. They scream at the sight of his disfigurement and they scream at the sight of his fangs. The only ones who might be willing to answer his question would be his own kind now.

Erik knew there were others like him that existed, but he never had the fortune in crossing paths with one. Luciana was the one and only vampire he ever met. Even though his Creator abandoned him, Erik was capable enough to teach himself how to hunt and to control the blood lust. Adaptation was a skill of survival that he picked him at a younger age, and it worked to his benefit in his newfound un-life.

Despite the basic necessities, there was so much more for him to learn that he couldn't get from instincts alone.

As years went by, he read plenty about his kind from mythology and folklore to fiction as well as through experimentation. He didn't know much in his former life except the old myths regarding vampires and Bram Stoker's Dracula. And from what he learned and experienced, some lore was true while others were false.

He could survive the early sunlight, but when the sun reached its highest peak it was best for him to take shelter. He didn't have to feed every night; typically, a good kill would last him several days before the hunger pangs would return. However, if he fasted too long, then the consequences would be very messy indeed. And Erik loathed cleaning a kill in that type of aftermath. He preferred a quick kill with little bloodshed for him wipe up.

In addition, he needed an invitation to be allowed into homes, which he hardly bothered to do to get a meal. Then when it came to hallowed places or sacred items, they had little effect over him. Even the touch of silver didn't leave any brand marks. Wooden stakes? Well… he did have an incident where he curiously drove a pike into his thigh rendering him unconscious for a couple hours. And mirrors… he still had his reflection.

As for supernatural-like powers, Erik was stronger than he ever was and he could move much faster. He had always been agile, even at an older age, and this ability was enhanced tenfold. It allowed for a quick escape if a passerby should see him feed and to stalk his prey. The game of cat and mouse was one he thoroughly enjoyed and the heightened sense of fear made the blood all the more sweeter to his taste-buds.

He was certainly a better version of his former life, but he was still lonely. Without his muse, he had no music to create. Without his music, he was a monster with a mask. It would seem that God only saw it fit to punish him as well when Luciana returned. Any music he attempted to write was unworthy. Even his beloved Don Juan Triumphant became sour to his ears and he had no choice but to destroy it.

After Christiana's death, Erik fled Paris for a few years. He had to get away, but no matter where he turned, he always ended back at the opera house. So he remained as society went through its wars, scandals, and fads. He even took advantage of his skills to build up his wealth. It was a hobby more than anything, instead of a livelihood. He was able to cheat in casinos, rob drunken fools blind, and invest in any stocks that interested him. And when he decided to use his funds, he would travel somewhere else to take in the local cuisine.

He kept the money in various accounts and under different aliases. Being immortal, he was careful to make sure his money was protected and he didn't withdraw too much. If someone became too suspicious, then he would either compel them to forget or they would simply end up at the end of his fangs.

Yet, as he roamed the parks of Paris, Erik found the sights becoming tedious. He knew this city like the back of his hand and it no longer held the same interest it once had. Even his beloved opera house was losing its splendor in his eyes, a thought he never thought possible.

He sensed the restlessness growing within him and he knew it was time to go somewhere else. He already traveled everywhere in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. So far, the only country he had yet to visit, but had heard so often on his travels was America.

Yes, he thought. I think this is a good time than any to see what the land of Opportunity has for me.

xxXXxx

Joseph Buquet was a peculiar man.

At forty-five, he looked like he was in his sixties. Bushy salt-and-pepper hair, wild brown eyes, with wrinkles creasing his weathered skin; Buquet enjoyed taking long walks through Central Park during the night; searching for what he loved most: bugs.

Flies, mosquitoes, fireflies, butterflies, ladybugs, cockroaches, you name it. He loved them all.

Ever since he was a child, Buquet would read countless books, journals, and articles about the insectum. He would go out and collect various species and study them in glass jars. When he was thirteen, he was forced by his older brother to eat a beetle he found crawling around the house. Buquet found the taste not to be as bad as he might thought; although, he would never admit that to anyone.

So when he grew older, Buquet joined the NYPD as one of the forensic scientists. Whenever a case called to have an insect or larva identified, Buquet was the man the department turned to. He was the best of them all (despite having his eccentricities); solving a great deal of homicide cases, including the Javert case where the man was choked to death by a rather large black widow spider. It was sealed with the evidence of the eggs left in the larynx.

Yes, Buquet was a needed member of the force. There was not a single person in the city, perhaps, the whole nation, who had the abilities like he had. Yet, that didn't seem to matter when his superiors forced him to take a sabbatical after he had The Incident.

It was a nice, formal way of telling Buquet he was about to be fired. It wasn't his fault The Incident happened. If only people learned to stay out of other people's business, then he wouldn't be looked upon with disgrace.

It was a secret he kept from his colleagues, but he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Sometimes he wouldn't take his medicine, but he was still able to function properly. No one had a single clue. But he knew he couldn't go too long without taking a pill, which was why he kept a bottle hidden in his locker.

Well, some young punk new to the Forensics Department believed Buquet had something up his sleeve that explained his successes. He brushed it off as a kid who was envious, but didn't realize that he was being watched just so he could be caught in some slip up.

As it was, ever since Buquet had a taste of that beetle, he discovered that other insects were just as tasteful. No, he didn't go around and eat any bug in plain sight. That was weird and he was a professional. Instead, he had a stash of cricket goodies in his locker, which he would grab one or two to munch on. They were a good source of protein and he did hear from somewhere that supposedly insects could possess the key to immortality. He doubted that was true, but if it did prove to be so, then that was a bonus.

As it happened, the kid caught him with his hand in the jar. He used some camera on his phone to record the whole thing. After Buquet had his snack, he took his pill. It didn't take long to do the research to see what kind of pill that was.

So the punk ass kid confronted Buquet and it led to a fight where the latter beat the crap out of the former. Buquet didn't mean to. He lost his temper and he couldn't control himself.

His superior, Thomas Seward, was upset to hear that one of his brilliant scientists got into this mess. He tried to tell Buquet that there was a lot of pressure from Internal Affairs and his bosses suggested Buquet take the sabbatical so things would cool over.

Buquet appreciated Seward's concern for him, but they both knew that Buquet wouldn't be coming back. He was a liability, a loose cannon, and the PD couldn't have that on the streets, even if he was only an investigator.

Seward suggested he check in at a hospital, but Buquet laughed it off. He maybe a little "nuts," but he didn't need any care from a hospital.

So now, Buquet lived off his paycheck until he could return for "an early retirement" to get his pension. It was Seward's way to make sure that Buquet left with his dignity intact. With all the free time he had on his hands now, he was grateful he lived fairly close to Central Park for him to conduct his nightly hunts.

"Where are you my lovely?" Buquet crooned, squatting down on the cement. "I won't hurt you…much."

Digging into his coat pocket, he pulled out an empty baby food jar and quickly unscrewed the top. There was a hefty looking spider that darted from the grass, one that Buquet had to have.

He squinted, keeping his body in a stiff position, waiting for the spider to reappear. On cue, the black-bodied arachnid ran out causing Buquet to jump, crushing his palm on the ground. A soft, squishy sensation charged through his arm as Buquet let out a curse.

Lifting his hand, half of the spider laid on the concrete while the other half was stuck to his palm. After a while, a ragged sigh escaped his lips as he mumbled, "Oh well."

Buquet's tongue flew out to lick the remains off his hand. He swallowed and regrettably stared at the ground. He shouldn't waste what was left. So, he used the lid of the jar to scrap it up, and making sure no one noticed, he closed his lips over it and sucked in the rest. So good. Although, it would have been better if I was able to take it home and study…

A pair of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Lifting his head, Buquet was face-to-face, no…rather face-to-foot with a pair of black boots. Slowly, he gazed up the tall, sturdy body all covered in ebony up to a bemused expression of one visible half a face and a scowling mask covering the other half.

Gulping, Buquet continued to stare at the stranger, unease and trepidation tumbling in his stomach. He may have been part of the force, but the only times he came in contact with criminals was during their trials. He never had a reason to fear them until… now.

Everything about the stranger screamed criminal, but Buquet couldn't move. All he could do was helplessly stare into the blue-green eyes that were hinted with golden specks. They were such an unusual shade of color and with such an intense fix reminded him of the iridescent beetle. He kind of looks like one, he thought absent-mindedly. Buquet's brown eyes grew large.

Save for the mask, the stranger's built was strong and muscular—like the shell. The eyes were round as well as large; the sclera (the white around the irises) wasn't seen at all—bug-eyes.

The more he stared, the more he believed that this man once was a beetle, perhaps a god in a former life. The longer he stared, the more Buquet felt drawn to this man with a mask.

"You would do," the dark, tumbling voice murmured. "I need a man to be my eyes and ears during the day. You will listen and obey."

"I will listen and obey," Buquet repeated.

Erik grinned. Oh yes… this man would be very useful.

"Good. In return for your loyalty and obedience, I will make sure you are greatly rewarded."

"Yes… I will be loyal and obedient. Anything of mine will be yours," he replied, without blinking.

This was getting better and better. "Very well. I will need a place to stay—"

"Buquet," the older man answered. "Joseph Buquet. My home isn't far from here."

"Splendid. Now I have something that's going to require help moving. Follow me."

Buquet jumped to his feet and trailed behind the mysterious figure in black.

TBC…