Chapter 2- Goodnight Kiss

The blackness felt better than the throbbing pain, almost soothing, and he welcomed the abyss, letting the rhythm of his heart lull him to sleep as it beat slower and slower. He would have blissfully sunk into the silence if only the eyes had relented and let him – the eyes of ice that burnt through his closed eyelids like white-hot iron.

"You're dying," the man by his side explained gently, as if he were talking to a child. He took his hand in his, squeezing it gently.

Miles shut his eyes even tighter against the invasion of the voice in his mind. If this was death, then he didn't really mind. He preferred it to the nauseating delirium life had become, dozing through nightmares while shadows watched over his sleep and gave him kisses that hurt.

"You want to die, is that what you really want? Have you even thought about her?"

Her? The words echoed in his head, piercing through the fog of numbness and rousing a strangely familiar ache.

"You'll never see her again, if you die, Miles."

So much left unsaid and no time left… Try as he might, Miles couldn't remember the last time he and Franziska had had a true conversation, a chat about something unrelated to cases and investigations. She had changed a lot– Miles always liked to think about how far she had come since their discussion at the airport all those years ago when she had been but a vulnerable girl, crushed under the weight of her father's madness. Away from him, she had thrived in a way that surpassed Miles's expectations. He liked to think that he had helped her rise to the woman she was today, his partner and equal in and out of the courtroom.

What he didn't like thinking about was how their lives and works had continued to drive them apart. Underneath the layers of formality and professionalism, he rarely caught a glimpse of the Franziska he used to know.

No time left and so much left unsaid…

"I can give you all the time in the world."

The voice drifted lazily toward him from afar, and he tried to open his eyes, to no avail.

"We are running out of time," murmured the voice near his left ear. "You had better hurry up if you've had a change of mind."

Blindly, Miles reached out toward the man, but his fingers closed on nothing but thin air. His arm dropped limply back to his side.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you."

"Please."

"So, as it is… I give you eternal life."

He sounded pleased with himself now, as if laughing at some private joke only he could understand. It took only a few seconds – Miles heard the softest of gasps, then he felt the press of something soft, warm and slick against his lips. The metallic taste of blood invaded his mouth, the smell suffocated him. Instinctively, he tried to turn his head away, but the man's fingers were already gripping his chin.

"Swallow!" he hissed. "Do as I say."

Miles stared across the room at the man who fancied himself his instructor. How he loathed him in that moment, the whole of him – from the engaging smile he sported, baring bright, pearly white teeth, to his elegant fingers, which were tenderly cradling the little face of a toddler he held against him like a trophy.

"Think of this as the beginner's course," he explained pleasantly. "I've selected her especially for you since she won't be much of a challenge to handle. She's lost consciousness, but she should wake up in a little while. We can do this the easy way or not. It's up to you."

He didn't bother answering, merely putting more distance between him and her fluttering heart, ignoring the enticing noise of the hot blood rushing through her veins.

The vampire shrugged. "She won't recover, you know. I've fed on her already."

"You've turned me into a monster."

The man's eyes widened in mock surprise at the accusation.

"Seriously? Am I really expected to believe that I tricked an innocent lamb into becoming a big bad wolf? Everybody has heard about vampires nowadays, pretty boy."

"Vampires do not exist."

This time he burst out laughing.

"And I honestly thought you were an intelligent man, Miles. I must have been mistaken. Use your eyes." He gestured around the room. "Does this look like a dream?"

The vampire took the few steps that separated them. The child was hanging from his hand like a ragged doll. His other hand came up, cupping Miles's cheek delicately.

"Does this feel real?"

Miles recoiled from the touch. He didn't know where they were. The man's house probably… The windows were sealed off, cutting him from the sunlight, from everything in the world but that repulsive creature. He grabbed a plank and began to pull…

"No!"

In a split second, the man had come up behind him, tearing his hand away with brutal strength. The little body slumped on the wooden floor, momentarily forgotten.

"What are you doing, idiot? Do you have no sense? You'll kill us both!"

The man's arms snaked around his middle, wrapping him into a steel embrace as he pulled him away from the window. Miles started to struggle.

"Leave me alone! I'd rather die than be like you."

He was no match for the elder vampire. The other was losing his breath but did not slacken.

"Stop it, Miles," he panted. "What will she do without you?"

He stilled like a startled cat, motionless but tense as a piano wire. The vampire's arms remained firmly locked around his waist, his shallow breath warming his cheek.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Franziska von Karma, of course. Who knows what might become of her once you're gone…"

The storm had arrived seemingly out of nowhere. In the early evening, dark clouds had begun to gather on the horizon with formidable speed, and mere minutes later the city had been plunged in darkness, some two hours before sunset. Even the skyscrapers had looked like stranded passersby, alone in the unusually deserted streets and shivering under the billowing wind and rainy curtain.

Late in the night, however, the rain had suddenly stopped pouring, and the wind had unexpectedly stopped blowing. At the moment, everything was dark and calm, the silence only disturbed by the distant sound of a car going down the street. In fact, the atmosphere felt troublingly similar to that of another night a few years ago, moments before an old man died a mysterious, bloody death, alone in his prison cell. However, this time the ambient stillness wasn't that of calm before chaos; it was the deadly silence that usually follows the most destructive of storms.

An unconscious woman was lying down on a white bed while another sat by her side, watching and waiting. She was half-slumped on a plastic chair – cold, uncomfortable, utterly hospital-like. From time to time, she risked a glance at the other's face, but her features remained lifeless, her skin nearly as pale as the walls surrounding them both. The woman in the brown chair was visibly in a state of shock and, despite the warmth in the room, she shivered uncontrollably. Against her will, her wide eyes constantly wandered to the red bag that hung above the patient's bed, travelled incessantly along the tube that dived down and plunged into her arm. Deep in her mind, a living nightmare was playing and replaying in a relentless, continuous loop…

R&R please :)