Author's Notes: Normally I try to save my comments for the end of the chapter, that way you folks can dive straight into the reading, but there are a couple of things I wanted to say before you start.

First, I did something that I hoped I would never have to do, and that was to delete a review. I really appreciate everyone who reads this story and takes the time to write down their thoughts and opinions, but the one that was left was rude, uncalled for, and unrelated to the story itself. I'm open to constructive criticism, but this review was written to intentionally bully myself and my readers. Everyone is on this site to enjoy reading stories about their favorite shows/manga, whether they're an extension of the original universe or something else entirely. While I respect the original authors and the worlds they created, we're hear to tell our own stories. If you don't like the pairings, that's fine. If you don't like what the story is about, that's fine. But that is no excuse to attack others because they like something different from you. If you don't like it, don't read it.

Given the tensions that seem to exist between some readers regarding the Bleach love interests, I thought it was only fair that I warn you that this chapter introduces a very familiar, very contentious character - Orihime. I ask - beg even - that you please don't skip this chapter out of contempt for Orihime. I understand not a lot of people like her for various reasons, I'm certainly not a fan of her portrayal in the manga/anime, but her existence in this story is set and rather important in its own way, and she is written how I want her to be. I feel that Kubo missed a lot of opportunities for Orihime, and this is me trying to redeem her in my own way. Please, please give my Orihime a chance. I hope that by the end of this story you will find that you dislike her a little less.

That being said - please enjoy!

Author's Soundtrack:

They Will Fall Like Roses by of Verona

Chapter Eight

"This afternoon, the body of Amber Cunningham, age 22, was found by city employees. She was discovered behind a dumpster on Centennial Avenue, mutilated and drained of blood. Police Chief Jim Rodriguez has refused to make a statement so far, but many are speculating that young Amber is yet another tragic victim of the New York Dracula."

Orihime Inoue glanced sideways at the female reporter standing under the glaring light mounted on top of the camera pointed at her. She was one of many. At least a dozen reporters and cameramen skirted the edge of the yellow Crime Scene tape in hopes of being the first to catch dramatic footage or a piece of new information - all for the sake of their ratings. They said kind words, put on sympathetic appearances, but no one really cared about the victim or her family. Common decency and honest reporting had died over a decade ago. Now it was all about the money.

The reporter called for the camera to stop recording and reapplied her makeup. Orihime rolled her eyes and pushed past the vultures, ducking beneath the crime scene tape. An officer with a clipboard blocked her path as she straightened.

"Excuse me, ma'am, you're not allowed past the tape."

She tried not to pout. When had she ventured from "miss" to "ma'am"? She was sure she still looked 21.

Ignoring the officer's command, her eyes fell on the scene behind him. Several detectives and members of the NYPD crime scene investigators were surrounding the body of the New York Dracula's latest victim. The girl's twisted corpse lay discarded on the sidewalk, a blanket placed haphazardly on top of her in some careless attempt to hide her from the cameras. The corner of the building was doing more good than that damned piece of fabric, but it gave her a chance to get a peek at the body.

The dead girl's pallor was an abnormal shade of pale blue when Orihime was sure it was supposed to be a healthy bronze. Platinum blond locks were matted with blood and dirt. Muted orbs of hazel stared up at the open sky. Her body was still clothed, not a single piece of fabric out of place. The blanket was covering the wound, but Orihime would bet an entire month's rent the muscles and tendons around the base of her neck were ripped to shreds like pulled pork.

Orihime cringed. Great. Now she had a craving for pork. She'd have to pick some up on her way home. There was a jar of cranberry sauce she was sure would taste amazing layered on top of the savory flavor of the meat.

"Ma'am," the officer said more sternly, ballsy enough to take a step closer to her, "this is an active crime scene. If you don't leave I'll have to arrest you."

Finally giving him her full attention, Orihime gave him a sweet smile, swiping away a strand of auburn hair from her eyes. "You could certainly try, but I wouldn't recommend it."

Holding up the gold badge hanging around her neck by a silver chain, she gave him a patient smile. The large letters "FBI" and "Special Agent" glistened in the afternoon soon.

He looked at her skeptically and crossed his arms, bulking up his appearance like a territorial male bird. "I didn't hear anything about this investigation being handed over to the feds."

Not an uncommon reaction when she told most people she was an agent. Local law enforcement didn't appreciate the federal government coming in and stepping on their toes, throwing their weight around. To top it off, she wasn't exactly dressed like an agent. Most wore stiff black suits and large aviator sunglasses that screamed "Government Cover Up".

Orihime, on the other hand, was dressed in a comfortable pair of slacks and a colorful button-down blouse that exposed just enough of her cleavage to catch people off guard. While they were gawking, she had time to assess and evaluate the situation around her. Chestnut colored hair was tied up in a ponytail, keeping her vision clear. She still wore the aviators, but that was because she liked the style.

Dropping her badge so it dangled ostentatiously between her breasts, Orihime flashed him a sweet smile. She could hear him swallow the lump in his throat even without her refined senses.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to tread on anyone's toes, just to take a gander at the case, see how things are going." She moved to step around the officer, but he shifted and cut her off. Studying his face and seeing the determined clench of his jaw, she sighed. "Do you need to hear it from a superior?"

"Yes, actually. We can't have random people wandering in and out, exposing the scene to more unrelated evidence than necessary, and if you're not here officially, I would consider that unnecessary."

Ballsy, talking to an agent like that, but the chickpea wasn't wrong and she appreciated the intelligent tenacity. How would chickpeas taste coated in raspberry jam?

Her stomach grumbled quietly. She really needed to stop thinking about food. Pulling out her phone, she dialed.

"Operator."

"This in Agent Inoue, I'm at the crime scene of the latest Dracula victim. Officer. . ."

"Riggs."

"Riggs needs permission from a superior officer to grant me admittance."

"Connecting."

The phone rang for a few seconds before it was picked up on the other end.

"Chief Rodriguez? It's Agent Inoue. I'm at the crime scene, but one of your boys in blue isn't letting me through. Very thorough, but if you would be so kind as to explain the situation. . ." With a gentle smile, she handed the phone to the officer. He stared at it with mild confusion before taking it.

"Officer Riggs." He paused and then his eyes widened expectantly. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I'll help her in any way I can, sir."

Guilt briefly tugged at her. His tan skin was just a few shades paler as he hung up and passed her the phone. The speed with which he regained some of his composure and motioned for her to pass was impressive. With a nod of appreciation and a compassionate smile, she continued deeper into the crime scene.

A small group of people continued to surround the body. A young man waved his arms excitedly, his expressions animated as he practically danced around the deceased. Several of the crime scene investigators shot him deadly glares as they tried to collect evidence and take pictures.

"I'm telling you, Kouga, it's a vampire - a real vampire!"

Kouga, the young man's partner and an older man with dark skin and a frown etched into his features, studied the body with a solemn expression. Unlike the kid, Detective Kouga was bulky, more from working out rather than eating too many donuts, and stood nearly a head taller than his comrade. If he was aiming for "intimidating" he was succeeding. No criminal would want to run into him in a dark alley. Even the other people working on the scene were eying him cautiously.

"Cain, how many times do I have to tell you?" Kouga asked with a patient sigh. Tugging at his slacks, he knelt beside the victim and adjusted the blanket so the body was properly covered. "He just wants you to think that way. The guy is clearly in love with the occult and is either trying to convince himself he's really a vampire or he just likes fucking with us. I'm leaning towards the latter. Either way, these are the actions of a man. A human man."

Cain didn't look convinced. Crouching beside Kouga, he lifted the blanket just enough to show the ground around her. "But how do you explain how he drains the victims of their blood and why there's barely any of it on the ground?"

"By hanging the bodies by the feet, cutting into the jugular, and letting gravity and the heart do all the work for him." The detectives turned to face her. Kouga narrowed his eyes and examined her in a calculated manner. A lecherous grin spread across Cain's lips. "He most likely used a tool to rip through the muscles in the neck to make it appear like a 'vampire' attacked her."

Several of the other investigators stopped what they were doing, watching the interaction between her and the detectives. Kouga's eyes traveled down to the badge hanging around her neck and he groaned audibly. Even Cain's smile faded when he finally used his eyes.

"What's the FBI doing here? This isn't a federal case yet." Cain stood and positioned himself protectively in front of the body, as if to shield it from her sight. He searched the perimeter and scowled when he found Officer Riggs trying to push the reporters back. "Riggs, what the hell are you doing, slacking off on the fucking job?"

Poor Riggs. Today was simply not his day. Perhaps she would send him a gift basket as an apology.

"The Chief says she's good to go," he snapped back, a deep red blush of anger spreading down his neck.

That didn't seem to make the detectives any happier. Not that she blamed them. She smiled sweetly and tried to console them. "Don't worry, I'm mostly here to observe. The Bureau wants to keep an eye on things here, see how the investigation proceeds."

"More like watch us like hawks and then swoop down to take the case when you see something you don't like," Cain grumbled under his breath. He turned and joined the other investigators on the other side of the scene and began complaining, not so quietly, about interlopers.

"I appreciate your theory. Sounds like a pretty logical one to me." Kouga stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring down at her. Tilting her head inquisitively to the side, she continued to smile, waiting for him to finish his thoughts. When he didn't, she decided to help him along.

"You have something else you'd like to say, detective?"

He chewed the corner of his lip in serious contemplation and then sighed. "Look, I get it. You're just doing your job, but we've got one to do as well. I won't force you to leave, Rodriguez would have my hide, but stay out of our way."

Her eyes searched the crowd as he gave her his warning. They were full of curiosity, excitement, sadness - none of them terrified. Officers were mingling with the people, asking questions, but none of the people there would be able to help. They just wanted to see what was happening. Her eyes flickered to an older woman hobbling down the sidewalk, uninterested in all the activity. No one seemed to notice her either, as if she simply didn't exist. Judging by her tattered, dirty clothes she was more than likely homeless.

"Are there any alleys near here?" She continued to watch the woman as she picked up something from the ground and pocketed it in her shabby coat.

"There are alleys everywhere," Kouga replied begrudgingly. "Why? We already know the killer offed her somewhere else and dumped her here."

Narrow alleys, too small for people, cut in between buildings, but every block or so, they were wide enough to allow for vehicles, dumpsters, and vagrants. Just across the street was one, and a slight shifting in the pale shadows hinted at a potential new source of information.

Kouga yelled after her as she slipped under the tape and moved towards the alley. Trash littered the damp, cracked pavement, and the strong unpleasant odor of human waste flooded her nostrils. She crinkled her nose, pinching it in hopes of blocking out some of the smell. It didn't help. It only got worse as she stepped into the alley. She tried to focus on her search. When she spotted a deteriorating cardboard box pushed behind a rusted dumpster, a smile graced her lips. Listening intently, she picked up the quiet sounds of a rapid heartbeat.

Careful not to startle her target, Orihime walked on the toes of her shoes. When she reached the box, she tapped the corner of it with the tip of her boot. The box shifted and a haggard looking man scrambled out. Covered in grime and who knew what else, his shaggy gray beard riddled with saliva and bits of old hot dog, he stared at her with wild eyes. Seeing her badge, he fell back against the wall and slid to the ground, greasy strands of hair falling in front of his eyes like a grey screen. If she hadn't looked so fit, he probably would have tried to make a run for it.

"I didn' see nothin'," he declared in a shaky voice. His bloodshot eyes darted from one end of the alley to the other, searching desperately for a way out. "I didn' see nothin', I swear."

"Really?" She crouched in front of him, resting her arms on her knees and smiling gently as if she was addressing a child. "So you didn't see someone dumping a body just outside your doorstep last night?"

He hesitated. His heart slammed in his chest to the point that the rhythm sounded almost irregular. The fear that gripped him wasn't from her as an authority figure, but from something else entirely. If she wasn't careful her lead would die from a heart attack.

"Look," she said in a soft tone, "I won't tell anyone what you saw. It can be a secret between the two of us. I won't even tell those mean looking cops over there."

Finding some courage, he narrowed his eyes and pointed to her with his chin. "You're a cop."

She hummed a tone of amusement. "Hm. . . not quite."

His eyes grazed over her, not in a lecherous way, but in a way frightened pray evaluate potential threats. She appeared harmless enough, but this man seemed to know better. He knew not to trust appearances. Whether it was fear of her or not, she was pleased when he decided to talk.

"Y-You swear not to tell?"

Raising her hand in the air, her features grew more somber. "On my life."

But then he was silent again. Whatever he had seen - whoever he had seen - had him too scare to risk speaking to anyone carelessly. His testimony wasn't entirely necessary. She knew what she was dealing with, she just didn't know what he looked like. That asshole was hunting illegally in her city, killing her people, and it was pissing her off she had yet to catch the son of a bitch. And the vagabond was right to be afraid. The "New York Dracula" didn't just kill drunk women staggering home by themselves. He killed witnesses too. They hadn't found the bodies because, unlike the women who were in the news, he didn't want them to be found. There was no evidence to prove her theory, but she knew there were more bodies.

As she stood, the man snapped back to reality and waved her closer, desperate to keep her from leaving. Sucking in a breath so as not to inhale his potent stench, she leaned forward.

"It was him. The New York Dracula." His voice quivered with terror, and he pointed a shaky finger towards the crime scene. The detectives were still busy talking to one another as more reporters joined in the media frenzy. Kouga looked in her direction every now and then, but she was confident he couldn't see her or her witness behind the bins and other trash that decorated the alley. "He killed her over there."

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"Pretty, like a celebrity or model. Asian, with strange eyes that almost glowed."

She smiled happily. Finally, they could put a face on this bastard. It would go a long way towards capturing him and putting an end to his killing spree.

"When she looked into his eyes she went all still. Teeth - his teeth ripped into her like she wasn't nothin' but a piece of steak." He pushed himself deeper into the wall, trying to fade from view, his eyes wide with fear. Damn, she was losing him. She needed him coherent if he was going to describe the vampire to an artist.

"Come with me. Give my people your description and we'll keep you safe until he's caught."

The prospect of being safe and secure should have put him at ease, but instead, it shook him up. Four walls, surrounded by police-types, talking to him. All right, she could understand his hesitation.

"Or, you drop by, give us the description, and then you can be on your merry way."

This offer sat better with him, the panic in his eyes diminishing slightly. Why he thought he would be safer out in the city rather than with her people, she had no idea, but she wanted that description, and she would do what was needed to convince the man to give it to her.

Pulling out her phone, Orihime dialed a number. It rang once. A man picked up on the other end.

"Tristan."

"Tristan, meet me in the alley just across the street from the latest victim. I have a witness who is willing to give us a description of this asshole. I want him taken to the FCA immediately. Come in through the north side so you're not spotted by the cops and reporters."

"Copy that. ETA five minutes."

Orihime put her phone away and gave the man another smile. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt. "Stay here. A woman named Jackie Tristan is coming to fetch you. She'll take you to our facility where you can tell a sketch artist everything you remember about the New York Dracula. A car will then take you wherever you want."

Digging through her pocket, she pulled out a fifty dollar bill. The man's eyes widened. "This is one partial payment for your cooperation. You'll get more after you've told my people everything. Deal?"

The man seemed willing enough to help her without any additional incentive, but it didn't sit right with her. He wasn't willing to stay under their protection, the least she could do was give him some money so he could enjoy himself a little bit. There was no guarantee he wouldn't spend it on drugs or booze, but once it was in his hands it was his. Who was she to tell him how to spend it?

His eyes were locked onto the bill, like a brilliant and rare jewel, and then he was snatching it out of her hand, afraid she would change her mind. Prodding him for confirmation of their agreement, he nodded, telling her he would wait for her teammate. Satisfied she wouldn't lose her witness, Orihime stood and headed back to the crime scene.

A white van with "Coroner" scrolled across the side in large letters was waiting at the curb. The corpse, now in a black body bag, was being hoisted onto a gurney. The reporters were packing up their gear, and the crowd was dispersing. The detectives were still talking, comparing notes and theories.

"Find anything down there besides rats?" Cain asked with a sneer as she approached.

"Not a thing," she replied with a casual shrug.

Her carefree response had both detectives sharing a look of confusion.

"Then why are you smirking?"

"No reason. Looks like you have everything under control. I wish you luck in your investigation." Turning, she started walking down the sidewalk towards her car when Kouga called out to her.

"Hold up."

Playing coy might not have been the best decision. Cain was still green and would have taken her calm defeat as a victory against the fed. Kouga, on the other hand, was a seasoned detective. As much as he disliked feds, he wouldn't let hatred blind his instincts. She would have to tread carefully if she didn't want him digging any further. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder.

"Yes?"

"If I find out you're withholding information that could help us-"

Orihime turned and faced the detective, her playful smile gone and her eyes narrowed. Admittedly, he was right on the nose about what she was up to, but publically she couldn't let the slight go. He was accusing a federal agent of tampering, lying, and keeping important information from him. What agent would allow that slide?

"Detective Kouga, I understand your distrust and dislike of the FBI, however, I find it beyond insulting that you think we would inject ourselves into your investigation simply to interfere."

Kouga took a step back as if she had physically attacked him. Cain and several of the other remaining officers looked at one another nervously. A straggling reporter tapped his cameraman's shoulder to get his attention and began whispering hurriedly, pointing in their direction.

"I've already explained that the purpose behind my presence is simply to observe and be available should you request our assistance. We want this killer captured as quickly as possible, same as you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other cases that need my attention."

If Kouga thought to argue, he managed to restrain himself. His coworkers would probably keep the incident quiet, but the reporter? He hadn't caught anything on camera, but just his witness account of a dispute between the FBI and police over a serial killer would be a huge ratings boost. At this point, she was doing him a favor by turning and walking away.

When he thought she was out of earshot, he cursed up a vile storm with Cain trying to calm him. She almost felt guilty. He was a good detective with excellent instincts. He had been right to question her, to doubt her, but she couldn't afford the police to get any closer to their target than they already had. Enough humans had lost their lives because of this asshole.

Passing by the alley, Orihime saw that the man was gone. A message on her phone confirmed Tristan had him in custody and was taking him back to the Agency. She dialed a number and held the phone up to her ear.

"Operator."

"Inoue, Orihime. PIC 35 96 44."

"Transferring."

As the phone rang, Orihime climbed into her black sedan and closed the door. She started the engine and pulled out of her parking spot, headed back to the Agency.

"Ginjou," a gruff voice answered. Orihime sandwiched the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"It's Inoue. I found a witness to the latest killing. Tristan already picked him up and is bringing him in to give a description to Kelly."

"Tristan called it in. Is there a reason you're telling me something I already know?"

She quirked an eyebrow at his sharp retort. He was clearly in a mood. "I didn't know if Tristan called in or not. Besides, I wanted to let you know that our witness needs a bit of special treatment."

"Why?"

"He's a bit skittish. I promised him we wouldn't keep him after we got what we wanted."

"Fine. Whatever. Anything else?"

"We might want to keep an eye out on a Detective John Kouga. He'd didn't like that a fed was nosing around his crime scene."

"You went with the FBI cover huh?"

"It was the best way to get quick access and would explain my connection with Rodriguez without drawing too much attention."

"Makes sense. I'll have Hans make sure all your information is in order. When you get back, come to my office. I need to talk to you about something."

"What about-" the dial tone played in her ear and she scowled, tossing her phone into the passenger seat with annoyance.

Director Damon Kugo Ginjou was known for his curt and indomitable personality. Everything was consumed, considered, and determined in a slow and thorough stride. He didn't ruffle easily. The surprise party they'd thrown for him had been a major disappointment. He'd looked anything but surprised. Which is why Orihime found it disconcerting when she heard a hint of agitation in his voice.

She drove into the parking garage of the Federal Council Agency - also known as the FCA - and headed up to the fifth floor. As soon as she was through the elevator doors she was greeted by the receptionist with a chipper smile.

"Good afternoon, Agent Inoue. I have a message from Agent Tristan for you." She stretched across her desk and handed Orihime a piece of paper. Kelly, their go-to sketch artist, had been called and was due to arrive in another fifteen minutes. Soon, they would have an image of their killer and they could finally begin a proper hunt. She thanked the receptionist and stepped through the double glass doors that led to the main offices of the Hunting Department.

The mundane appearance of the New York City division offices were in stark contrast to the work they did. Cubicles lined the main portion of the floor where agents worked on computers, filing paperwork to keep the main branch up to date on their activities. Stairs running along the right side of the office led up to the second floor where Ginjou's office was located. The wall of glass gave her the perfect view of him pacing back and forth with solid, frustrated strides. Phone held to his ear, he gestured wildly as he spoke.

"Call from the boss man." Agent Riruka Dokugamine stepped next to her, long pale fingers twirling locks of pink tied up into pigtails. "They've been on the phone for nearly 20 minutes."

"It must be some phone call," Orihime remarked, watching in morbid fascination. She had never seen Ginjou lose his composure or raise his voice. Now she was seeing both. Then he shoved some papers across his desk, sheets of white fluttering the floor. Riruka sniggered and dropped into one of the chairs.

"He's been in a snit all day. It's actually pretty amusing to watch."

"For now."

"Thankfully I won't have to deal with him right after. Someone else will." The way she was sneering at Orihime hinted at her deeper meaning.

"Thanks," Orihime replied in an unamused tone. Spending her time with the director when he was in a rare mood was not how she imagined her day going. A few floors below, her witness was going to be giving his testimony and she wanted to be there to hear it.

Ginjou slammed his phone down on its base and she determined it was time for her to head up to his office. The sooner she got this meeting over with, the better.

"Good luck!" Riruka sang, playfully spinning in the chair.

Giving her a half-hearted wave, Orihime climbed the stairs. At the top, she could see the carnage Ginjou had wrought. He had never been a particularly organized man, but his office looked like a tornado had blown through it, circled back, and then torn through it again for good measure. Pictures, what few there were, either lay broken on the floor or hung catawampus on the wall. Papers were scattered about sitting on the floor, desk, chairs, and even on the top of the bookshelves. Only his computer remained untouched, and that was probably because he didn't want to pay for a new one.

Ginjou dropped into his chair, lighting a cigarette and inhaled deeply. It had been nearly ten years since she'd seen him light up.

"That bad?"

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he looked up at her like a pouting child. "Close the door and take a seat."

She stepped inside his office and did as instructed. Collecting a few of the papers from one of the chairs, she placed them on his desk to be lost with the others and took a seat.

"I'm assuming this," she motioned to the office, "has something to do with what you wanted to discuss."

"You would be correct." Ginjou took another long drag of the cigarette and blew the smoke away from her. It did little to keep the harsh smell from burning her nose, but she wasn't about to complain. Anything to calm him down. Smoking wasn't permitted in the building and the alarm should have sounded - if it hadn't been hanging by its wires from the ceiling, batteries removed. "I've had to play phone tag with three different Councils today."

Orihime stared. Communication between the Councils wasn't uncommon, but for the FCA, all foreign interactions ran through the main branch in DC. There was no precedence for them to be speaking directly with an individual division, let alone three of them. Whatever the reason, it couldn't be good. She began calculating various scenarios for such an event, and all three of them resulted in a huge loss of life.

"Three?" She confirmed, trying to reel in her paranoia and get more information.

"Yeah. Ours, England's, and Japan's." He leaned back in his chair and smashed the butt of his cigarette into an ashtray. "Apparently it's some kind of joint effort no one bothered to talk to me about until today. They've got some people flying in and expect our full cooperation. I don't know what those foreign dicks did to get the Chancellor to bend so easily, but he's demanding we do everything to help them out.

"Makes no goddamn sense," he reached for another cigarette, lite it, and took a long draw. "From what I can tell, it's nothing life threatening, no indication of a massive attack, but the Chancellor is acting like there's nothing more important in the world. You'd think the President himself was making an appearance."

He jammed the cigarette into the ashtray. "They want to utilize my resources, my people, my budgets, and keep me in the dark. It pisses me off."

There was the real heart of the matter. Ginjou despised being left out of the loop. He had grown used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Now, he was surrounded by three different factions and being told what to do with little to go on and no room to wiggle. Orihime tried to hide the smirk that was curling around the corners of her lips. He was having a temper tantrum.

"So what did they tell you?" She tried to pull back her amusement and move on. The more he focused on the details he did have, the more likely he was to calm down and fall back into his usual stoic self.

"Two agents from the British Council and two from the Japanese Council will be landing at JFK within the hour. We are expected to provide them with any support they should need while they complete their mission, and keep our noses out of it." He growled with his last words and scowled at his tempered cigarette, regretting putting it out. He reached for the box and growled when he found it empty.

"And you want me to be their babysitter," she concluded. It was her turn to be annoyed. How was she supposed to do her job when she was busy following these people around? In another thirty minutes, she could have the identification of the vampire who had been hunting in their city. If they didn't jump on this opportunity he could kill again. She didn't want any more blood spilt. "Why not have Riruka deal with them?"

Ginjou seemed to read her mind and gave her a sympathetic smirk, which looked more like a grimace. "I know you hate this. Believe me, you're not alone, but I need my best traveling with them."

Riruka would have been furious if she'd heard him say that. She was a good agent - a good hunter. Her tactics were a little unorthodox, but she got the job done.

"I don't need a hunter with them," Ginjou continued, picking up on Orihime's unease. "I need a diplomat. One of them is a councilor. The last thing I need is Riruka starting an international dispute because she doesn't like the color of their flags or some shit."

Given Riruka's affinity for finding just the right buttons to mash that was a very high possibility. With the Chancellor breathing down their necks, they didn't need Riruka insulting two Councils at once. Realizing she was defeated, Orihime decided she would take this job as seriously as her own. That meant she had to give up the New York Dracula case. Shuukurou would be a good choice. He was aloof but dedicated to his work. She could count on him to take care of everything.

"All right, give me the details you do have."

Author's Notes: So? How do we like this version of Orihime so far? Can you tolerate her? I know she's a quite a bit OOC, but like I said before, I wanted my own version of her. I'd like to hear your overall thoughts.

I'm not sure if any of you noticed, but I updated my covers for For Blood and For Love. I really really hated the old ones. I kind of like these ones better.

Thanks to those who favorited and followed both FB and FL. I love that FB is still being read (even without prompting from myself). Thanks to lightdesired, NieveDrop, and the guests who left reviews! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as well. *Insert gratuitous begging for R&Rs*