Fear of Love
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: To my reviewers, thank you. You don't know how much it means to me that you like and appreciate this. More specifically, Blacknight – Thanks, I try to be as descriptive as I can (Inspiration from Tolkien?) and I'm glad someone noticed ^^ Rose – (To quote a good friend of mine…) Continuing, continuing! SailorEevee – Hooked? Like a fish? I'll try and keep up to your standards! Silver Horizon - *blushes* Going pro? I'd like too…but I'm not creative enough! One day maybe, ne? BlueSkyTai – You love it? Honto ne? Wow… Miyu444 – I loved Queen of the Damned too! My inspiration shall we say? SuniD – Will and am continue(ing) Vernusia – Favorites list? *blushes* Thank you! Sora's Twin – And I present you with the next chapter! Crayon – Yamato in black? Why do you always present me with these wonderful visualizations? Synthetic Iris – Thanks for such a sweet review! Valentine Taylor – Patience is a virtue…but I *try* to get these out quick! Raie – The angel of death thing was spur of the moment, I swear!
San: First Encounter
A computer screen glowed unwaveringly in the darkened office. The woman sitting at the desk stared unblinkingly at it, her fingers moving at a frantic pace, typing what could be the next front page headlines. Beside her right hand, sat a cup of coffee, long since gone cold. On her left were her notes, scattered haphazardly on the surface of her table.
The sound of her typing was the only thing that broke the silence in the office, its booths vacated and empty. But not her. She wouldn't be leaving this place until she was damn well good and ready. Her hands picked up pace, feverishly trying to record all the events in her head in the computer.
This carried on for an uncounted number of minutes. She had been at it since eight that morning, tracking down leads and interviewing people. The rough draft of this story had long since been written, this was the final editing process. Now this story had to be finished in time to be printed the next morning. As though on cue, her stomach growled noisily, breaking the monotonous sound of the clacking of keys.
Blearily, cinnamon eyes strayed to the watch fixed on her wrist. It was ten o'clock. Belatedly, she realized she hadn't had anything to eat since two, when one of the juniors had brought in doughnuts. That, and the breakfast that had consisted only of coffee, had been all she'd eaten that day.
Her stomach growled again, demanding food now. Reluctantly, she gave in, grabbing her purse from its place behind her chair. She cast one last glance at the computer screen, mentally calculating how long it would take her to eat. She pulled on her jacket, jingling the keys in the pocket slightly.
Reaching over, she saved what she had written so far and turned the computer off.
Such was the world of Takenouchi Sora, one of the top journalists for the Tokyo Times. Born and raised in the smaller city of Odaiba, she had passed her journalism degree with honors, and worked her way to the top. She was known to be a hard case, never giving up the chase when it came to a front page story and completely unafraid of the dangerous situations that reporters often faced. That was what made her so damn good. She was utterly and completely ruthless when it came to her job, and was the envy of many of her colleagues, whether they were barely broken in juniors or experienced journalists.
Outside, the wind whipped around her violently, cold raindrops hitting her upturned face. Sora cursed, pulling her winter-weight jacket more closely around her. The nearest food stall was a five minute walk away. The rain increased steadily, seeming to mock her as she backed under the meager shelter the entrance to the office provided.
"Need help?" the rich, tenor voice startled her from her thoughts.
She found herself looking into burning blue eyes.
~
He didn't know why he'd said that. He hadn't meant to say anything at all; the sight of the lonely figure standing in the darkened entrance to a building had seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. Easy prey, his mind had assured him. And now this had happened. He cursed his rotten luck. If only he hadn't spoken, it was as though his mouth had moved on its own initiative.
He couldn't do it. Those coffee-colored eyes glowed with life, even as they narrowed in suspicion. There was something about this woman. For the first time, he was aware of life. This woman, his intended victim, was alive. The flame burned so brightly that for the first time in countless years, he felt the slightest tinge of fear. He couldn't bring himself to extinguish it.
"What do you want?" her tone was angry, but his sensitive ears picked up a tremble that told him she was more than a little afraid.
He admired her bravery; most would not have been able to keep their voices that steady. "I offered to help you," he replied smoothly, "I assumed you needed help, was I wrong in that assumption?"
She studied him thoughtfully, pale skin that almost seemed to emit a faint light, intense blue eyes and lips that curved up into a small, slightly condescending smile. That smile galled. He didn't look much older than eighteen, what right did he have to smile at her that way? That, and the way he talked automatically made her assume that he was mocking her.
"I don't need any help," she said at last, turning away from him to peer upwards at the dark sky, in the hopes that the rain would let up.
Now! His senses were screaming at him, Now! While her back is turned! It would have been almost too easy. He felt his incisors lengthen in anticipation of the sweet taste of her blood. Yamato smirked, he didn't want to take the easy way this time. Something told him that this woman was the challenge he'd been after.
"I didn't mean to scare you. You just looked like you needed some shelter to get to wherever you're going." He indicated upwards to the umbrella that he held in his hand. Slicked with rain, it glistened wetly in the dim light. She wondered how she'd never noticed it before.
"I…" she wanted to accept, but her pride wouldn't let her. The rain began to pelt down and she sighed, "Thank you."
~
The bright light from the windows of the busy shop caused them both to squint. With the increased lighting, Sora was able to observe her rescuer more closely. He moved silently, his feet making no noise, even as he picked his way through the puddles that had collected on the ground. Even the wind seemed to make no sound as it rustled the folds of his trenchcoat.
His blue eyes seemed to be focused somewhere in the distance and for the first time she noticed that his hair was blonde. Even while wet, it fell into his eyes in clumps, making him seem younger than he was. She wondered if her first assumption of his age was wrong. He looked eighteen, but his eyes and mannerisms made him seem much older.
She supposed he was good-looking, in a sort of gothic way. His dark clothes contrasted sharply with his pale skin, only his hair and eyes giving some relief to the combination of black and white.
"Thank you," she said again, pausing awkwardly, "Um…would you like to join me for something to eat? On me of course. Sort of a gesture of appreciation?"
He almost laughed at the innocent sounding statement, but a wave of regret swept him. There was a time when he would have accepted, but that time was lost to him. Only the long, lonely years of immortality remained.
"No," he said softly, "But thank you for the offer."
He turned to go, leaving her standing in the sheltered entrance of the small shop. His dark clothes had almost blended into the darkness before she mustered the resolve to call him back.
"Wait!" He turned, blue eyes shining with an almost inhuman light. "At least tell me your name." The journalist in her wanted to know, or maybe it was just him, he intrigued her to no end.
"My name?" he laughed quietly, "You don't need to know my name." He smirked, pale white teeth gleaming in the darkness, "I'm all too certain we'll meet again."
~
The hunger was killing him, gnawing at his insides incessantly. Fool, he told himself coldly, You had her. You had her and you let her get away.
And the question remained, why? Why had he let her go? He had not just let her go, he had escorted her to where she wanted to go. Why would he do such a thing?
Roughly, he pushed those thoughts aside. There would be time enough for those later. He had all of eternity to ponder his out of character behavior. For now, his hunger was all consuming. Eyes narrowed, he searched for his prey.
There. A woman – no, a whore – standing by the roadside. She shivered in the wind, her thin coat doing nothing to protect her barely covered skin. Her hair was an obviously dyed shade of blonde and her painted face revealed unnaturally bright red lips.
Red. The color of blood.
Cockily, he strode over, his trenchcoat swirling around at his ankles. He saw no need to pretend to be human anymore, this girl wouldn't live to tell her tale. Soundlessly, he approached her. In contrast to his silent movements, the stiletto heels of her thigh high boots clacked on the ground as she stamped her feet in an effort to keep warm.
"Hello, darling," he purred.
Her painted mouth stretched into a flirtatious smile, only then he could see that one of the teeth in her lower jaw was crooked. "Hey there big boy," she cooed, reaching up a hand to run through his lank locks, "Looking for a little fun tonight?"
Close enough to her face to see the mascara that coated her eyelashes. He smiled, showing the enlarged incisors that dominated his mouth. Her eyes widened in fear as she tried to back away. His grip on her wrist tightened and that painted mask of a face screwed up in pain. "Oh," he whispered softly, "I'm definitely in the mood for some fun."
Those blooded lips moved soundlessly, trying to form words. The smirk on his face grew, there was no confusion as to what this woman was. She was his prey, his chosen, he would have no trouble finishing her off. He lifted her wrist to his own pale lips, kissing the pulse gently, "Don't be scared, darling."
His voice was deceptively soothing as he smiled at her again, "We're just playing a little game." His deep blue eyes captured her emerald ones, "I'm the evil vampire, out to suck your blood, and you're my helpless victim." Perhaps it was his frustration at letting that woman go, but he felt especially sadistic tonight. He kissed the pulse again, all the time keeping his eyes on her, "Let's play," he murmured, biting down.
Her face contorted in pain and a soft gasp escaped her lips. Black streaked tears ran down her face as she tried to cry out for help.
Blood. Warm, thick and sweet. The heavy liquid ran down his throat, fueling his senses like fire. He was perfectly attuned to the woman before him, he could hear her heartbeat matching his own. He drank, letting the liquid rejuvenate him. Slowly, almost painfully, he disengaged himself.
"What's the matter?" he asked, showing her a bloodstained grin, "You don't like my game?"
"W-what…what are you?" the voice was a pale imitation of before, trembling and weak.
He released her wrist and she clutched the appendage to her breast, staring dumbly at the blood that flowed down the limb, staining her clothes. A few faltering steps backwards, her brain was screaming at her to get away. Disorientated from blood loss, she fell to the ground in a shaking heap. "S-stay away!"
The fear in her voice was evident now.
He crouched beside her, the long hem of his coat dragging on the muddy ground. Almost tenderly, he flicked a strand of bleach blonde hair from her eyes, pushing the strands back and tucking them behind her ear. Cold, caressing fingers combed through the strands, pushing the tangle of hair that obscured her neck away. "There," he whispered, "Much better."
Her breath was coming in short gasps now and she looked up at him with fear-bright eyes. He ran a finger over her rouged cheek, placing a light kiss on her painted lips. The blood still flowed from the wound he had inflicted. "This won't hurt a bit," he murmured, biting down on her neck.
She tried to scream, but the sound died before it even reached her mouth. His lips moved against her skin, drawing away the precious life fluid that ran in her veins. Weakly, she tried to fend him off. He grabbed her wrists, putting an end to her feeble blows.
This time, he drank his fill, disengaging only when he felt the body grow cold. Standing, he noticed that she had gotten blood on his coat. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, wiping away the blood that coated his chin. Without another look back, he walked away. The girl's fragile body lay on the ground, blood still seeping from her open wounds, falling to mingle with the dirt.
He didn't care. After all, it was all a game.
~
A/N: Sorry it took so long, writer's block, plus been very busy. R+R please!
Website: http://smabbi.onewingedangel.com
© Abi
2002-04-02