Jamison Fawkes always suspected he'd die in one fucked up way or another. Try as he might he'd never pictured this particular scenario.

As her sharp teeth bit into the flesh of his throat he gave a jolt, though he hadn't the strength to push her away. He was feeling woozy, barely registering the pain by that point, the agony of his arm was fading away as his vision fogged up. Probably for the best.

Unable to help himself Jamie laughed. It sounded odd even to his own ears, high-pitched and tinged with desperation. "Oh, you're here to kill me... that makes more sense I guess..."

He couldn't see her reaction. Maybe that was for the best too. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find something to enjoy in those last few moments as he rested against her. And because he was him, of course, he talked.

"Suppose that's fair... should thank you, maybe, wouldn't've been much use without the arm anyway... probably better like this... k-kinda thought those two ugly gits would be the last thing I saw, ya make a much better alternative... there's worse ways to go out than in the arms of a beautiful woman... who wouldn'a seen that one coming, ha... always imagined I'd end up in a gutter somewhere..."

Things were fading fast, the words tripping over his tongue and coming out haltingly in a near whisper as he gasped for breath. He tried to smile through it. Could be worse, he told himself, could be worse...

It took him a moment to register the pressure at his neck abating. When he opened his eyes again he found he was lying on the floor and staring up at her, this monster. Damn she was a beauty. Maybe it was just blood-loss addling his brain but there was something entrancing about the woman. She had golden eyes and long silken hair, her skin dark but wan so that it appeared almost grey in the dim light, flecked scarlet with the remnants of her feast. Her expression was unreadable but she reached out toward his face.

He thought, in a moment's blind panic, that she had taken offense to his gaze and intended to tear his eyes out or something equally as cruel. When she touched him though she merely brushed the hair from his forehead, fingers lingering as they traced the contours of his cheek. Jamie whimpered.

Then the woman leaned away from him again.

Feeling dizzy Jamie tried to focus on breathing, ignoring the ringing of his ears and the throbbing of his wounds as he struggled to cling to something tangible. His vision was growing dark around the edges and he knew it wouldn't be long now. He wanted to hold on a little longer though. Just a little longer, to eek all he could from this miserable life... didn't want it to be over just yet, not really... just a little longer...

Something hot and wet pressed against his lips and he blinked in confusion, trying to solidify the sight before him. Shapes wobbled.

"Drink," a voice said, and it was smooth and rich and he found it quite soothing, a very lovely voice...

A sigh soon followed, and whatever was against his mouth pressed a little more firmly.

"You are dying," the voice informed him bluntly. "If you do not drink soon, you will not have the chance."

Well, he supposed it would be awfully sad to disappoint that voice. Weakly he sought to obey, parting his lips and letting the warm liquid trickle in.

"Drink."

He managed to swallow, adam's apple bobbing with the motion. It felt like molten fire trailing down his throat. He tried to pull away.

"Drink," the voice continued to insist.

Jamie whimpered again, but did as he was told. A strange warmth seemed to be flooding through him, so different from the numbness of before. He felt feverish. He felt sick and hungry all at the same time, and whatever he was drinking was so repulsive to him yet he found he was gulping it down with a newfound energy. He was thirsty. Why was he thirsty?

Then the thing at his mouth was pulled away, and he whined, reaching for it without quite understanding why.

"That's enough," the voice said, and it sounded gentle. Soft, like one might scold a child.

But he was still thirsty, a peculiar craving writhing within him. He reached out again but cool hands took ahold of his arms, guiding them back to his chest. They held them there until he gave up.

Shivering, Jamie tried to make sense of things. The world was spinning and the blood was pounding in his ears and he felt nauseous in a way he'd never experienced before, burning up and trembling uncontrollably. Was this death? Was this how he was going to go out?

Tender fingers stroked his hair, and he leant into the touch without meaning to, desperate for some kind of comfort.

"It will pass," the voice promised, and Jamie hoped that was true. He didn't know if he could carry on like this. Maybe death wouldn't be so bad after all. If it could wrench him from the jaws of this exquisite agony he was more than happy to let it take him, as bitter as he was to concede.

His breaths came short, sharp, little more than weak gasps as he choked on air. God it burned...

And then... and then he stopped. Jamison Fawkes died. He lay still, like a corpse, and gazed sightlessly ahead without so much as a final laugh.

Then he blinked. And blimey if he wasn't confused.

Uncertain quite how long he stayed like that, it finally occurred to him that he was apparently not quite as dead as he should have been, and he drew an experimental breath. Air flooded his lungs, but it felt strange. Breathing just didn't seem like such a pressing concern any more. That would have terrified him, except that, well, if he was still conscious so far then it couldn't be that important, not breathing didn't appear to be causing him as much harm as was typical.

"There. The worst has passed," the voice said. Hands smoothed his hair back once more, then steadied him, helping him to sit. The world swam alarmingly and Jamie clung to them, fighting to keep his balance. Everything was strange. Sound was wrong, colours too bright in the gloom, vision flickering as it struggled to adjust.

He found himself in the arms of the monster, the woman, as she clasped his chin between her fingers and titled his head in a bid meet his gaze. She appeared to be studying him, ponderously, and Jamie stared back at a loss for what to do.

"Can you speak?" she inquired lightly.

Jamie continued to stare.

Her eyebrows dipped in a mild frown. "I suppose it takes a while to adjust. Still, I do not think I can leave you here, that would be terribly irresponsible of me."

It took him a while to process her words, still fumbling for some kind of control over his body.

"Where... where..." he tried, voice horse and worn. He could not complete the question, but the woman seemed pleased.

"I will take you somewhere safe for now, the rest I'm afraid I will have to work out later. I never intended..." she trailed off, lips drawn into a tight line. "Lets just say I am not in the habit of this. This was something of a whim."

"Oh," he said, because he couldn't think of anything else. He was still focused on her eyes, the lovely yellow warmth of them, quite unlike anything he had seen. Noticing his apparent daze she smiled slightly, waving a finger in front of him until he followed the movement.

"You will have to walk. I could carry you but it would make something of a spectacle, I would prefer to avoid such things," she said.

"Spectacle..." he echoed, trying to get used to how scratchy his voice felt. He reached up to feel his neck and immediately regretted it.

The woman drew away from him, leaving him to wobble slightly as she got to her feet. Then she bent down and offered him her hand, waiting with perfect patience as he glanced from her, to it, and back again. Finally able to put two and two together he stretched his own hand out, but realized, belatedly, that the hand he intended to reach with was missing. He scowled at the stump, equal parts baffled and betrayed. Thoughts were still proving slow to process.

Observing his confusion the woman took the initiative, clasping his other hand and pulling him up before he could contemplate it too long. He teetered, unsteady on his feet, but she was ready to support him.

"Come," she told him gently, slinging his arm across her shoulder and settling her own against his lower back. It was an awkward position given his height, but somehow she still moved with an absurd grace as she led him from the room.

Jamie felt like he was in a dream. Maybe the biggest trip of his life. None of this made a lick of sense, staggering along beside her with the world still wobbling before his eyes. Maybe he'd laugh this all off in the morning. Maybe he'd swear off the drugs, and the booze, probably everything else too. He'd split from the Junkers. If he could find a buyer for what he'd stolen then him and Mako would be set, no more small time jobs and shitty apartments, no more street fights and nights spent passed out on the curb... the high life... he'd be living the high life...

He giggled at the thought and the woman gave a sigh.

She somehow managed to keep him from tripping over his own feet on their journey and deposited him on her doorstep as she unlocked. Then he was guided inside, and after some consideration the woman decided to sit him on the couch. She stood back with her arms folded, regarding him critically.

"You are a mess," she said plainly, "but I haven't the time to deal with it now. Stay here."

Jamie didn't know what else he could do. He had the lingering suspicion that there was something he should be doing, something important, that there was something that should be troubling him, but he could not put his finger on it. He curled up on the couch, shivering.

Soon enough the patter of falling water sounded. He listened blearily, picturing the rain and trying to remember something that kept slipping his mind. Was he thirsty? Why was he thirsty?

When the woman returned she was clean and dressed in fresh clothes, not a speck of blood to be found, and smelling profusely of flowers. It was near overwhelming, and Jamie was surprised to find himself picking through the scents, which was odd because soap was just soap, wasn't it? Certainly he'd never cared one way or the other before.

She touched his shoulder, snagging his attention. "You will have to move. I am afraid I've only sealed up one room properly, so there is no other option for the moment. It would be a shame to see my efforts go to waste so soon."

It wasn't as if he had the strength to argue. She took him gently by the arm and led him to another room, a bedroom it would seem, and idled for a minute before she seemed to conclude there were few other options, and after a brief tut helped him over to the bed. That probably should have excited him, but he hadn't the energy. He lay down on top of the covers and she nudged him over, making space for herself with an air of irritation.

The room was dark. The windows were blocked over, and even the door had a thick drape obscuring it. The place should have been pitch black, yet Jamie found that he could still make out shapes, could read the contours of the place - from the sharp angles of the furniture to the soft curve of the woman beside him. He shivered again.

Something was wrong. His head was spinning worse than ever and it felt as if everything was slowing down, grinding to a halt as he struggled to find the will to speak. He could feel his pulse, growing fainter and fainter, body falling limp. "Am I... dying?" he managed.

"In a manner of speaking." The woman rolled over, cupping his face in her hand as she turned him to look at her. "The dawn is approaching. This is perfectly natural, though I suppose it is unfamiliar to you... You are safe though, you have my promise. I would not let harm come to one of my own."

He tried to find some comfort in that statement, to take solace in the tenderness of her tone, but a spark of terror still squirmed inside his chest. It was frightening to feel himself slipping away like this, each moment beginning to bleed into the next as time slowed to a trickle and he found he was helpless to act. He barely felt the fingers that clasped his own.

"It's alright," the voice promised.

He managed to take a breath, words slurred. "Never... caught ya name..."

An amused hum came from somewhere distant. "Satya."

"Satya," he repeated with a final gasp, closing his eyes as the world slipped past. It was a nice name.