A/N: Chapter 3. Woot! So, remember how I told you to go listen to Ludo's "Horror of Our Love"? Seriously. Go do it. Youtube. It'll take three minutes, and it's just awesome how perfectly it fits. I challenge you to guess which parts I imagine as Artemis' and which parts are Maggie's. :)

So: Lyrics = Ludo's. Characters = Eoin Colfer's/Stephanie Meyer's. In case there was any confusion.


I'm a killer, cold and wrathful.

Silent sleeper, I've been inside your bedroom.

I've murdered half the town,

Left you love notes on their headstones

I'll fill the graveyards

Until I have you.

I didn't mean to kill that woman night before last. I really didn't. It was absurd, the way your smell got to me, and then to stand over its source, so close, and know that I wasn't allowed to touch it.

Absolutely maddening.

And then, just as I was using every little ounce of my self-control to drag myself away from you, lo and behold, that stupid woman had to come wandering straight into my path.

It was as if she deserved to be killed, simply for having the incredible misfortune to cross me when I thirsted more strongly than since I was a newborn.

Isn't life funny? Sure, there are a few rules that I'm obligated to follow along with the rest of my kind, but nothing I've really wanted has ever been off limits to me before. Not since my rebirth.

And yet, there you are, vulnerable, untouchable, and I've never craved anything more.

I hadn't even set out to go hunting the night my obsession was born. Still satisfied from the weekend's feeding, I'd gone running instead, enjoying the full moon and the strangely good weather.

The air was crisp and clear, and the sky was cloudless, but I could smell the tang of cold rain on the air. And you know Ireland - for every clear day we get there's a month of rain that follows, so I'd be damned if I was going to pass this one up.

(Did you catch the pun I snuck in there? I'm sure you can appreciate the irony, being such a master of it yourself.)

I know you humans can't fully appreciate nature in all its beauty, your senses as dull as they are, but you can trust me when I say that this night was absolute perfection.

Of course, you may have a different idea of what constitutes perfect weather. I imagine you and everyone in your manor was crowded around the fireplace, the thermostat cranked up. But you see, I don't need to worry about such trivialities as body temperature. I'm sure the biology of it would fascinate you, clever as you are, but now is not the time to get into it. I don't really understand it myself.

I digress.

So, there I was, indulging in some harmless exploring of the countryside. There are few parts of Ireland that aren't familiar to me, so you would think this would get boring after a while, but one thing I never tire of doing is visiting its castles. Towering, majestic, gloomy in their emptiness. I can wax poetic about them for ages with a tolerant listener.

Isn't it strange how few people seem to inhabit castles?

I mean, there you are, with your cozy little family of three, living in a structure that could easily house dozens. Even counting your servants, you've so much extra room it's ridiculous.

I always think of the grand old buildings as being lonely, needing light and warmth and laughter to fill them up. But they are beautiful in their loneliness.

I have visited your manor before. I spent two whole days there one spring in 1741, only a year after my transformation, lurking out of sight on the fringes of your property. I remember marveling at how little the people who lived there had been affected by the first Irish Famine.

Your many-greats grandfather was a generous, if underhanded man, using his ill-gained riches to ensure that even the lowliest of servants living at the manor had enough to eat.

I fed on one of the field hands while I was there - he tasted better than the rest of the malnourished masses.

You shudder. I imagine this disgusts you. Which is funny, because you have no idea how close you came to sharing his fate a mere twenty-four hours ago.

I'd decided to return, purely out of curiosity, to see what state the castle was in. It is still in shockingly good condition. The centuries have treated it well. It is just as eerily beautiful, standing illuminated on that moonlit hilltop, as it was two hundred and fifty years ago.

I was wandering about the stable when I scented it: the most heavenly aroma I've ever had the bad luck to stumble across.

I tracked it into the barn and to the stall of one of the horses, making the animals stomp and whinny in instinctive terror.

My first, irrational thought was that it was the horse I scented! That some sort of bizarre anomaly was causing the unlucky creature to smell more delectable than any human I've ever encountered.

This was silly, of course, and after a bit more sniffing I realized my mistake. Your scent was all over the animal, but underneath that ambrosial mask it smelled just as disgusting as any other four-legged beast.

I trailed the scent to the front door. I know you wealthy humans are fond of your electronic surveillance systems these days, so I moved as speedily as I could without losing the trail.

But it was a cinch to wrench open the attic window, follow my nose down the stairs to your bedroom…

And there you were, you delightful creature. Lying there so innocently, lovely black hair splayed over your pillow, your eyelids fluttering as you slept. Oh God, that smell! It was everywhere! Like I'd stepped into a- a cocoon of temptation.

You can't imagine how badly I wanted to kill you then. I sat on your windowsill and just fantasized about how I would do it. I wanted it to happen slowly, I knew that much.

I planned it all out. How I would walk over to you, bend down and gently tilt your chin upwards.

How you would begin to stir, murmuring as I woke you. You would gasp when you saw me. And I would rip out your throat before you had a chance to scream.

But Siobhan has two very strict rules about the humans our coven kills.

Firstly, the human must not be high profile. We may kill no one important, no one whose murder would garner unnecessary attention.

And second, the human may not be young. Siobhan has a soft spot for children, and pities the mothers left behind. Killing you would break both those rules to pieces.

Well, maybe not the second, as much. You aren't all that young. Older than myself when I was changed, anyway.

Ah, such a war my senses fought against my loyalty. Was the minutes-long pleasure of sucking you dry worth the God-knows-how-long anger of my coven, when they discovered what I'd done? It is no light thing to blatantly act against the wishes of a coven leader, especially when the leader is also your creator, and loves you as fiercely as her own child.

It wasn't fair! What had I done to be cursed with the presence of a prey so tantalizing, yet unattainable?

In an impressive show of will power, I ripped myself from your presence. I flew straight out the window, across the grounds… and right into old Mrs. Whats-Her-Name, out walking some silly little dog on a pink leash.

I made short work of her. I needed that feeling of predatory satisfaction, of being in control of who I could kill and when.

I didn't get it. I couldn't enjoy it. She wasn't you.

And now here I am.

Watching you.

Again.

I know I must not kill you, so there is no reason for my being here. I am only tempting myself by returning. But it seems I just don't have the strength to keep away.

I'm not sure how many hours have passed, but Siobhan and Liam will be wondering where I've got to, and after the chewing out Mother gave me when I followed you to the mall today I don't really want another confrontation. I should leave.

I lean over you, inhaling that torturous scent.

Goodnight, my sweet one.

What I would give to sink my teeth into that fragile little neck of yours…

That warm, sweet blood flooding my mouth, freed at last from the delicate membrane of your skin, almost as white as mine but infinitely more breakable…

Your life nearly ends right then and there.

I brush my lips against your throat, feeling your pulse throb.

You shiver, turn over. Your eyes flicker open. My fantasy coming to life before me.

And what strange eyes they are. One a light hazel, the other an intense blue, like the color of the ocean at its deepest.

Sleep confuses you, makes you the easiest target possible. Just one quick lunge, and you could be mine.

But I think of Siobhan. I don't linger.

For a second time, you escape death by my fangs by only a hairsbreadth.

You will live another day, if not for Siobhan's sake, then at least so I can continue to admire those peculiar eyes.

But I may not be so charitable the next time they close.