A/N: Introducing... the villain. Falling on my head seems to have inspired the muse. Great, my muse bathes in the glare of my pain. What does that say about me? Don't answer that...
Rootless Tree
When she wandered the Strip at night, the neon lights painting her skin like a blank canvas, memories came back to her. Vague and blurry, like a bad dream, she remembered a deep voice, remembered cold fingers on her neck.
She remembered soft curls brushing against her face, a sharp pain at her neck, the deep swallows of the being behind her.
The sand she had clawed at, desperately trying to get away. Darkness had settled over her, each deep swallow of the one holding her against his chest brought on a shallow breath from her.
The lights illuminating the crime scene had seemed so close and with each shallow breath they faded, got dimmer. Fear had settled deep within her, fear and longing. She remembered feeling incredibly sad.
The desert hard underneath her body, her eyes half closed she had looked up into a pale face. Cold, hard eyes with a glimmer of mischief. The color of the ocean on a stormy day.
She passed by all of those tourists on the Strip, haunted by her memories as their blood hammered in her ears and she remembered the taste of his blood. The first drop of blood she had ever tasted, stronger than human blood, she knew that now. Pure electricity, fire, pain, lust, want, need. So many things.
Shuddering slightly, she continued walking, trying to block out all the noises in her head. She needed to learn how to focus; she needed to remember his face. His face.
He had been kneeling over her, had touched her cheek with an icy cold hand, had wiped a strand of hair out of her face. She couldn't remember what he had said to her but she remembered a voice, dark and melodious, cunning and alluring. Like a web, one she had to avoid getting caught in.
A cool wind blew across the Strip, a side door opened, spilling a group of people out onto the streets. Shreds of their conversation almost drowned out the sound of their blood in her ears. Almost…
Why her? Why in good hell had he taken her? Chance or coincidence? She shook her head, trying hard not to get angry. It was too late to get angry. She hated the fact that she could remember the feel of his teeth against her skin.
Slowly, she walked back towards the townhouse. The sun would rise in a couple of hours and she needed to feed. Her hunger for blood was strong, impossible to ignore. It drove her home; she could almost taste Grissom's blood flowing into her mouth. She loved swirling her tongue through a mouthful of warm blood. So good…
Her feet carried her along the sidewalk quickly; she kept her eyes on the ground, trying to remember more. Of course he had said something, she could remember his voice. He had to have said something.
She stopped at the top of the stairs, turned around and looked out towards the lights of the Strip. The cool breeze caught her hair, whipped it around her face and she sighed deeply.
"Damien…" Her hand flew to her mouth as if she wanted to catch the word before it could escape, float away on the wind. His name, at least she had his name. Along with the feel of his hair on her face, his teeth on her neck. She shivered again.
All she wanted was Grissom, needed his touch, his arms around her and his blood in her ears, her mouth, her heart.
TBC