Ichigo stared up to the unfamiliar ceiling.

Despite his fatigue, he refused to close his eyes. He was more determined now to stay awake. In a poor attempt to amuse himself, he studied the room he was provided with.

The room was vast; the furniture was grand, polished to perfection. The bed in the center of the room was white and wide, capable to hold four persons. It was an enormous room with high ceiling, red velvet ceiling to floor curtains and one grand chandelier. However, despite the size and grandeur of the room, Ichigo felt restrained, uncomfortable.

Tiredly, he sighed and ran a hand over his messy red hair. He glanced over his bag. He reached for it, slid a large hand inside and felt around. He froze as it came in contact with a familiar object – a book.

His jaw clenched. Gritting his teeth, he withdrew his hand and clenched it tightly.

:

He woke up to the feeling of a thin arm wrapping around his midsection.

He did not open his eyes, but a frown appeared on his face as he realized he had fallen asleep while in on his side. He soon felt a body snuggle to his back, a cold breath touching his nape. A hand touched his chest, and his heart pounded violently in reply.

"Your heart is beating so fast…"

Ichigo swallowed. Just as he imagined, her voice was sweet and pure.

They stayed entwined, for how long, he did not know. She kept her hand over his heart. Then he felt her shift and her lips touched the back of his neck. Ichigo clenched his fist over his blanket, tensing. Before he knew it, he was speaking, his tone strained as he struggled to contain his composure.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

She did not reply. The silence was compressive, a chokehold around his neck.

Then something strange happened; she lifted herself up, hovered and kissed his cheek. Surprised, his eyes snapped open. Long, thick locks of auburn hair were all over his face. He reached up to tread his long fingers over her hair; they were soft under the pads of his fingers. Entranced, he continued to comb her hair. She felt almost-real. At this last thought, his fingers curled around the strands.

This is just a dream, he told himself.

Her lips touched the shell of his ear, and Ichigo shivered.

"You're fucking up with my head," growled Ichigo with a frustrated scowl. "What do you want from me?" She did not answer him. In his brief spell of anger and frustration tinged with fear, he grasped the back of her head and rolled to his back. She did not move even when he forced her to straddle him, a hand at the back of her head, grasping a fistful of auburn hair.

His eyes were drawn to her red lips. "Orihime…" He growled as though he was in pain. Her perfect red lips parted slightly but no words came out. It frustrated him, and in his desperation, he pulled her head down and kissed her full on the mouth.

Ichigo felt his world turn upside down. Someone tore the ground beneath his feet; he plunged into an imaginary abyss.

This… feeling of her lips on his, it was something a person could get crazy about. An urge came over him, harsh and animalistic. His lips moved over hers frantically despite of the fact that she was unresponsive and still as a statue. But Ichigo did not care; he wanted her, he had always wanted her. What mattered now was that he was able to touch her like this.

He reversed their position, still kissing her. His hands wandered to the curve of her hips. One of his hands lowered to her thigh, pushing her skirt up to touch her skin.

A hand gently touched his cheek and cradled the side of his face. To his amazement, he felt her respond to his rough kisses. Ichigo gently pulled his lips away from hers. Shrouded in the darkness of the room, he was unable to see her expression; only her lips were visible. Panting, he strained to see her face better by pushing her hair off her face, but she cupped his face with both hands and pulled him down for another kiss. Almost immediately, he took control of the kiss, mindlessly devouring her lips and exploring her mouth with his tongue.

He did not care if she was real or not, if it was a dream or a nightmare, imagination or real. He caressed her thigh, going as far as touching her rear while kissing her thoroughly.

He felt her push against his shoulder and their lips parted.

Catching his breath, Ichigo watched her swollen lips move. She was speaking, he thought vaguely, but he was feeling quite intoxicated, unhinged, so he kissed her again, tangling his tongue with hers. He groaned, deepening the kiss.

She was murmuring against his lips.

"…It's time to wake up."

Ichigo blinked.

:

It was eight in the morning.

:

After several seconds of staring up to the unfamiliar ceiling, Ichigo groaned, yanking a chunk of orange hair. "Damn it."

:

The dining hall was empty except for a blond man wiping glassware when Ichigo came down and chose a table near a French window overlooking to the lush, snowy gardens. The same blond man in butler suit with a lock of hair falling over the side of his face did not look up from his task but he carefully set down the wineglass he was wiping, came to Ichigo's table and asked him what he wanted. Ichigo ordered coffee and nothing else. Rubbing his tired eyes, he glanced outside the window beside him.

As usual, large gray clouds occupied the whole sky. They hung low, touching the surrounding mountaintops. It felt like the sky and the earth were going to collide with the way the clouds filled the sky. Forty five minutes later, after emptying his third cup of coffee, Ichigo found himself walking down the snow-covered pathway that bordered the frozen lake. It was silent and windless. There was no movement in the air. Even the leaves were frozen, as if suspended in place.

When he arrived in the clearing, she was already there, busy with another snowman. She was dressed in the same plain white dress reaching her calves and like yesterday, she was barefoot. With a full intent to touch her, he approached her but he changed his mind halfway and sat down on the bench instead. Silently, he listened to her hum a familiar melody. He tried to place where he heard it but she stopped, stepped back from the snowman and turned to him.

"What do you think?" she asked with a smile. She looked really beautiful, he thought, with exquisite lips and a beautiful smile he wanted to capture in a box to hide and treasure.

"You're taller than him."

Orihime laughed. The sound was beautiful. "It's because I can't make a snowman as tall as myself. It's difficult, I tried once."

"Where's the other snowman?"

"Oh, the one I made yesterday?"

"Yeah, that one,"

She smiled. "I recycled him. I wanted to make a bigger and taller snowman but my efforts were not enough." Slowly, she walked up to him and stopped two steps before him. They stared at each other and Ichigo decided that he wanted to touch her.

Without taking his eyes off her, he took off his right glove, reached forward and very carefully, he took her hand in his. It was small compared to his large hand. Mesmerized, he squeezed her fingers. Real, solid, alive. She was supposed to be a figment of his lonely imagination, wasn't she? But here he was, holding her small hand. A more rational part of him insisted that this person he was holding hands with was a different person from Orihime in his book. That everything was just a mere coincidence.

Yeah… everything's just a coincidence. This does not mean anything.

She took a step forward, their knees almost touching. "You look tired." She said softly. Ichigo looked up to her eyes. Her brown irises almost filled the whites of her eyes. He felt like he was being watched by an otherworldly creature. "Are you sick?"

"No." He said quietly. "I'm just having trouble sleeping." He returned to observing her hand. Her skin was smooth and cold to touch. He traced the blue veins with his fingertip.

"Why are you having trouble sleeping?"

He did not answer, engrossed in examining her hand.

"Are you having nightmares?"

He shrugged. Orihime took a seat beside him, her hand still enveloped in his grip.

"When was the last time you slept?" Ichigo looked at her; she looked genuinely curious and painfully sweet and innocent.

"I can't remember." He told her, and it was the truth. Sleeping seemed like an alien thing to him.

"Oh." She wrapped her fingers around him. "I'm sorry." Ichigo could detect sincerity in her voice. "Is that why you're taking a vacation?"

"Maybe," he replied vaguely. Narrowing his eyes, he examined her closely and asked, "Where do you live, Orihime?" She blinked and stared at him with a hint of wonder. Ichigo noticed. "Why are you looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, you didn't. It's just…" She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "You're the second person who calls me by my name." She answered softly.

His grip on her hand tightened. "I'm sorry. Does it bother you?"

She shook her head, smiling. "Don't apologize, please. It's okay. I'm just glad, that's all. It's rare for me to meet someone who'd call me by my first name." She smiled sideways at him. "And yes, I live somewhere very near here."

He wrinkled his nose. "I suppose you live near this place. Near enough for you to become comfortable walking around barefoot,"

She pouted. "I feel more comfortable like this. I love the snow!"

"But it's unhealthy. Don't you feel cold?"

"I don't." She smiled up at him. "But look, I brought my cloak with me." She pointed at the long, thick red cloak with attached hood hanging from a branch of tree. "And like I said before, I have strong immune system. I don't get sick. Never." Her lashes lowered over her eyes. She seemed to be studying the buttons of his overcoat. He took advantage of her preoccupation and stared at her lips. With a jolt, he remembered his dream, relived it and his mouth went dry as something hot and fierce coiled in the pit of his stomach. Without thinking, eyes hooded, Ichigo leaned forward to her.

Her eyes lifted, and their gazes met and connected. She did not move away; instead, she took a deep breath and licked her lips, her lashes fluttering.

"You…" Her voice barely cut through the haze of strong emotions and sensations fogging his brain. "You smell good." Orihime whispered. "I…"

:

…The monster in her was twisting in delirious anticipation.

His scent was exquisite.

Scrumptiously delectable that if his scent was something she could put in her mouth and eat, she'll devour it feverishly. If his scent was something she could drink, she'll gulp it down in one go.

With a nervous swallow, she closed her eyes.

It was taking a lot of resolve in her part not to lean in, grab his neck, and take a lungful of his scent before sinking her fangs in his skin.

Oh, one taste, one bite, one drop was enough.

Just one… Orihime thought feverishly, mouth watering, chest heaving.

"Is there something wrong?"

With a jerk, she opened her eyes. His face was still close to hers and he was frowning worriedly at her. "I-I'm fine." She answered nervously and decided that it was safer to put distance between them. Her canines were lengthening that she had to grit her teeth to stop it from elongating further. She pulled her hand free from his grip and stood up to approach her cloak hanging from a branch.

I'm just hungry – that's all.

There wasno special reason why she was obsessively attracted to his scent, she convinced herself. I'm just – She jerked when she felt hands on her shoulders. His hands. When… when did he — she did not sense him move!

"Orihime."

She bit her lip to suppress a moan from escaping her mouth when a delicious shudder convulsed her spine. Her mouth watered anew. The hunger she felt was accompanied by something else, something deliciously carnal.

Swallowing hard, she squeezed her thighs together, mortified at her body's wanton reaction. His scent was driving her crazy. It drugged her and her senses. It made her crave for something other than blood. And this scared her.

She was not naïve; she was aware of her body's physical needs but… when was the last time she hungered for intimacy like this? It had been too long for her to remember and those rare instances were insignificant compared to the fierce desire she was feeling for him right now.

She was confronted with numerous what-ifs: what would happen if she caught a whiff of his blood, tasted a droplet of it? What if she lost her control? What if she… Her musings came to a halt, her eyes glazing over at those scenarios and her heart pounded in her ears. But she struggled for control. She was different, but she was not a monster. True, there was something in her that desired for his blood, but regardless of her innate bestial nature, she had a rational mind and a conscience.

I have to leave before I lost control – before I shred him to —

Orihime turned around to face him to make an excuse to leave. But it was a grave mistake. His scent assaulted her hypersensitive senses in full force, making her dizzy.

"Orihime?"

Wide-eyed in panic, she looked up to his intense amber eyes. Another vicious pang of desire lanced through her. Her desire to be touched everywhere was getting stronger and keener that it made her shake all over. Worst of all, the ache between her legs was fast becoming unbearable, causing her control to slip from her fingers.

"Are you alright? You're shaking." Ichigo said while his large hands massaged her arms.

Carefully keeping her lips pressed together to conceal her teeth, Orihime smiled, eyes shining with tears of concealed frustration and embarrassment at being so aroused before him. "I have to go, Kurosaki-kun." Her tone sounded strained as she tried to speak through her elongated canines.

He frowned darkly. "Wait a damn minute." He growled, stopping her from fleeing and taking her cloak, "I have something to ask you. How did you know my name?"

She stared up to him, clenching the skirt of her dress. Opening her mouth, she tried to reply but a faint breeze blew and it carried his scent to her. Unable to stop herself, she inhaled greedily and stared up to him. His expression changed the moment their eyes met. He frowned inquiringly, his eyes holding a spark in them.

"Your eyes," he muttered, looking down at her with his orange hair between his brows. Orihime blinked as though she had woken up from a quick nap. "Your eyes are glowing." Ichigo elaborated.

"…g-glowing?" she repeated uncertainly.

He nodded briskly. "They are. Golden brown, like neon lights."

Eyes widening in understanding, she whirled around quickly and snatched the red cloak from the tree. She spun it around her and draped it over her shoulders. It was large and long, the hem reaching the snowy ground. She started to run off but a hand grabbed her elbow and turned her around.

"Orihime—"

"I really have to go, Kurosaki-kun." She insisted, trying to free her arm. But he jerked her up to his chest. Gasping in surprise, she placed her palm on his chest to steady herself. Eyes wide, she felt rather saw him bend his head to whisper in her ear.

"How did you know my name?"

A few loud heartbeats passed. In the snowy woods, they stood against each other. Her red cloak stood out perfectly in the pale background of snow.

Orihime looked up, meeting Ichigo's gaze. It looked like he was trying to read her thoughts through her eyes.

"How did you know mine?" she asked in return softly. He looked taken aback, and then, his eyes darkened. Gently, she freed her self from his grip, excused herself with a quick bow and walked away hurriedly, her cloak billowing behind her.

:

Grimmjow glowered when the door behind him opened and slammed close.

"Shit! Where the fuck did you go?" he snapped, stubbing his cigarette on the wall. "I was looking all over this damn place for you!"

Breathing raggedly, Orihime sat on her bed, her back to him. She heard him approach.

"Where —"

"Please leave me for a moment."

Careful not to show her face to Grimmjow, she threw her red cloak on the floor and slid under the white covers. With her long thick hair spreading over the pillows, she wrapped herself in the thick duvet, curling in a fetal position.

Orihime squeezed her eyes shut.

This can't go on. She pressed her nose against her pillow, a futile attempt to block Ichigo's scent that had clung to her. If this continues, I might lose control of myself and… In her mind's eye, she saw Ichigo, bloody, bound, naked and helpless.

She muffled her moan with her pillow. She was too wet, too hungry… too much. Determinedly, she clenched her fists to prevent herself from fondling her own breast or touching herself between her legs to alleviate the ache. She was too mortified and prude to do those things; moreover, it will take more than touching herself to assuage her hunger.

"Grimmjow," she whispered breathlessly.

"Yeah?"

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

"I'm… hungry."

:

Grimmjow shuddered. He felt something thick, invisible and slimy wrapped itself around his neck. He struggled with the feeling but it was pointless; he fell to his knee, sweating.

"Fuck." He hissed. The air became thick, heavy. It felt like a gigantic serpent had suddenly filled the room. He could picture the serpent in his head – huge with ruby eyes, moving around so slowly, hissing, waiting, flickering its forked tongue before opening its mouth and devouring his head.

Grimmjow shook his head violently to get rid of the image. But the terror brought about by the image was so raw that it disgusted him to admit that he was afraid.

"Your Highness," he grunted, eyes narrowed, watching the new development with annoyance. Thick sheets of shadow had begun to rise from the floor and detach from the walls. The shadows struggled, formless at first before twisting together, forming a giant hand that rose above the room without a sound. The fingers elongated into claws and a mark resembling an eye with massive eyeball and intricate eyelashes appeared – it was the Family crest.

"Shit." He growled, getting a bit dizzy from the pressure. "I'll get you two meals, how about that, huh?"

Something of great significance had happened, Grimmjow construed. She was someone rarely affected by basic drives. And her distress had caused her aura to spill all over the room. One of the things that made her especially odd among their kind was that she could perfectly conceal her presence that no one – even her powerful father – could detect her. This attribute of hers was a rarity. However, when in intense hunger and emotional distress, her aura would leak all over the place and give anyone in the vicinity a strange sensation of being crushed by tons of serpents. Grimmjow could count in his one hand the instances wherein she lost herself.

The pressure thickened, provoking another string of curses from Grimmjow.

"Just relax, for fuck's sake!" he snapped.

There was no reply, but the large, ominous shadow retreated, attaching to the walls before crawling back to the darkness as though siphoned. Like a bulb blinking out, the feeling of being choked vanished, and Grimmjow thrust his two arms to break his fall.