She was already in the shower when her phone began to ring, and she turned off the water in order to ensure she was hearing correctly. A smile spread across her face as she turned the water back on and quickly dispensed with the remaining soap on her body.

She dashed to the phone that lay on the bedside table, her body loosely wrapped in a soft blue terrycloth towel. She flicked her fingers over the buttons and read: “Lot 75, downtown Demaitre. Midnight,” she said aloud. She toweled off, removing most of the moisture from her wet hair in the process before setting about the task of attire. She decided on white and all leather. Her skirt was short, just covering what needed to be covered while her top tied around her neck and back with thin strings.

She dolled up, gloss on her lips and dark shadow over her eyes with a splash of Obsession on her neck and silver heels on her feet, and she was ready to go. She hopped into her car, tearing from her house in the quiet neighbourhood she lived in, where all windows were dark, the respectably all asleep by that hour.

She took the drive with the top down, cool night hair whipping through her hair drying it more than she had taken time to. It had been a long week, a very long week and Lorrea needed a fix, needed to shed the shackles of her everyday life and set the town on her fire, bring some excitement into her life. She didn’t know what type of thrill she was seeking, she never did, she just took what came her way and enjoyed it. She had a lot to protect though at the moment the only thing on her mind was her desire to get her blood on fire with a stiff drink, to start.

She pulled up behind the building, a few others were there locking their cars and walking towards the address they had each been text. She joined them, checking her appearance quickly in the rear-view mirror before walking away from the car, her money tucked into her skirt waist. As usually the bounce was at the door, a large man who played the double role of also being cashier to those who wanted to enter. She paid him, flashing him a smile as she did so and receiving a wink in return. It was fun to flirt with those who chose whether or not you got to have fun or not.

She entered the crowded dark establishment with its strobe neon lights and heart thumping music. Immediately the beat took over her waist and hips and they began to move of their own accord. She wasted no time in finding the dance floor and someone to dance with. She didn’t even look at him, she just wanted to feel a body near heart that was moving to the same rhythm as she. This night was for fun, for unleashing yourself and nothing else.

The keys spun around his finger, flashed silver in the dim lamplight. So far, he liked this city with its brisk air and oblivious populace. And a large population it was too—large enough that it was never hard to find a meal. Or a party for that matter and a party was where he was headed. It might have been a while since he’d cut loose and gone where the music was kept just over a blast, the dance floor was thick with the anonymous, and the drinks were strong enough to pickle your liver, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find the kind of place anymore.

No, didn’t mean that at all.

His hair was just this side of messy, the thick black locks seeming to beg for the trail of hand through them. The normally plain features seemed nearly edgy; toughened up by the shadow of stubble that darkened them. And the eyes weren’t their usual deep and dreamy blue, but darker and harder, like ice at night. The daytime garb of the proper and the precise was abandoned—he wore instead a dark shirt the color of wine and black jeans that made the most of his tall, muscled frame rather than hid it.

The weak streetlight slid over the car’s sleek paint as he slipped inside and soon left behind the orderly and the subdued. Neatly kept apartment buildings were replaced by warehouses with broken windows, festive lawn ornaments by graffiti. Soon enough, he pulled onto the broken asphalt of the empty lot used for parking. Most people had already arrived, leaving the bullnecked bouncer to lounge against the wall looking bored.

Romax tossed him a bill as he headed inside, where it was hardly brighter than it was outside. But here the music thudded and lights flashed dizzyingly. The relentless beat was designed to thump in tune with your heart and then go faster, meant to help the sing of adrenaline through blood. The drink he tossed back burned down the back of his throat like cinders, and added the quick punch of heat to his blood. He could smell alcohol and sweat, could hear only the roar of music and voice. In no time, he was in the thick of the small crowd on the floor, a crowd that grew all the time. Here the bodies were anonymous, hot and taut against his own.

God, he’d missed this.

The music blasted in her ears as she and the strange continued to dance. She turned to face him, a dark-haired man with slight stubble; ruggedly good-looking she would say with his blue eyes that flashed dark and then bright in the neon lights.

The bodied of all were tight packed together, hers pressed against the body of this anonymous man. He was dressed well, well enough for this place she thought, and then a curious smile spread across her face as she recognized him. She had seen him before, never in the party but near it, walking by or just standing outside watching. He’d finally made it indoors, which pleased her. She noted him and wondering what his deal was on more than one occasion, and now fate had brought her right into his hands so to speak.

She smiled up at him, that mischievous grin that always found a way to the surface whenever Lorrea was in such a position. Closely packed against some handsome devil, why wouldn’t a woman smile about that? Her lithe body rippled, glided and shook in perfect time; her arms rose around her ears and then worked their way around the stranger’s neck. In this crowd, names didn’t matter and actions were inconsequential by morning, so why not enjoy them now, a little fun on the floor, a quick dance a bit of flirting, it couldn’t hurt.

Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest as her eyes looked everywhere but at the face of the man she danced with. It was part of the fun, part of the seduction so to speak. It wasn’t supposed to be like she was dancing with him, more like for him. Tonight Lorrea was feeling in the temptress mood, the wild young vixen out on the prowl and perhaps this man was going to be her next victim.

She continued to move, her body pulsating against his, till finally she looked up at him. “Having fun?” she asked loudly in order to be heard over the music. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

It was intoxicating to be in the middle of this rage of blood. It was all he could feel, smell. The beat of the music was nothing compared to the slam of hearts, the different colognes muted against the headier scent of... people. Whatever chemicals they doused upon themselves, people had their own scent.

Romax could just catch his (current) dance partner's scent, a bright blot on a canvas smothered with brilliant streamers of paint. Beneath the perfume was the scent of soap and shampoo and just beneath that was the scent of skin and the slightest touch of sweat. He closed his eyes, let the sounds and sensations wash over him.

Yes, he had missed this. It was a cycle he wasn't even aware of, this search for adrenaline. For months he would avoid places like this, even though he'd always enjoyed himself, feeling too old and stodgy to come. Then he would start to think about it, linger outside watching as the doors opened and people streamed in. And he would remember. But, just to draw it out, he'd go away and throw himself into work. Then he would come, let the pound of music and the sting of alcohol turn a typically boring night into one without names or inhibitions. And then he would go back to the school and it would start all over again.

Pitiful, really.

She was tall for a woman, but tipped her head back when she smiled at him. A smoky, mischief-drenched smile that he met with one of his own. And if his eyes wandered lower than her pretty face, well, it didn't drop too far. Only to the elegant column of her tanned throat, offered up so invitingly.

As her hands found their way around his shoulders, he gave in to temptation and stroked a knuckle from her chin to her collarbone then let his hands slide to her hips. One brief touch to feel the hammer of her pulse, more a tease of himself than her. He wanted her, of course, but he'd let her seduce him first. Whether it took a winding road or a direct one, he knew where the night would lead.

She moved like a snake, all confidence and grace. Against his own, she was sleek and sinuous. Romax could almost see her curling around him and tangling him up. Not that he was just standing idle. No, his body moved with hers--hands, hips, legs. To the pound of music that drummed like a frenzied heartbeat.

Having fun, she asked, drawing his eyes to her lips. "I am now. How about you?" Romax replied, leaning to speak in her ear rather than shout. One hand toyed with the straps and strings of her top as he spoke again, "I come only when it strikes my fancy."

Despite her question, her body never missed a beat. There was something about music that demanded your obedience to whatever whim it wished to take you on. A swivel here, a brush there and another swivel of her hips, and she continued, still looking up at him for her answer.

What was his name? She didn’t know. What did he do for a living? She could care less. The point was he was there now. People were everywhere, nameless strangers all looking for a good time, just like she was. Some had already found a conquest, others were still looking and others were just there for the drinks and the chance to be near supple flesh without having to worry about being respectable or meeting society’s approval. She was a mixture of them all, plus one more…the need for a rush.

Work was a different kind of rush, one for the ambitious part of her, but this was different this was pure pleasure, with hardly any work being involved in it.

He smiled in return, a smile that was not entirely devoid of merit and was rather attractive. People should give more credit to smiles; they could change a simple face into something more charming and alluring. She liked to smile.

He brushed a hand across her chin and down to her collarbone, eventually settling on her hip. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t mind in the least, it was part of the dance to hold and caress. He would find no objection from her. Her fingers clasped behind his head as her hips swayed from side to side rhythmically. He fell in time with her, as was the normal way of things, in a dance two bodies could be come almost as one and feel the same pleasure from the act that would otherwise be lost without that physical connection.

“That’s good,” she replied casually, her head swaying from side to side as her hair, wild and untamed flitted about her. “Oh, I’m fine…much better now,” she said coyly taking advantage of the close proximity between them. “Is that so?” she asked, pressing against him a little more has his fingers played with the strings of her top. Friendly fellow wasn’t he. “Then I’m glad you took a fancy tonight. I might have been without a partner otherwise,” she teased. Her hand traced across his shoulders teasingly and then her fingers intertwined again.

Romax nodded soberly but his eyes laughed plain enough. "I'm glad I could save you from such a fate." He said with mock gravity. Ah, but Romax had a flippant tongue, didn't he? He'd never been much of one to get through a day without jokes or dry side remarks. But he did it in a good fashion and this he said with a pleasing quirk of his lips, "I do what I can to help."

He liked the feel of her, in his arms and brushing up against him. The evening was showing promise; this was certainly the place for it. People came on their own or with a friend, and everybody had the same goal in mind: a good time. She looked to know the routine well enough to enjoy it. A club like this, what happened here stayed here... unless it didn't.

But Romax was just looking for that simple goal of a good time. Liquor hard enough to give you an ulcer, a good flirt, and a willing companion for the evening. He'd had the first, was in the middle of the second, and was hoping for the third. Oh, and fourth on his list was a meal. Maybe, he thought as his hands buried themselves in her glorious tangle of hair, maybe he'd get everything he wanted.

She smiled at him playfully as spoke. She was glad he had saved her, but it wasn’t really a rescue more like a partnership. They both had someone to preoccupy them now, and what was wrong with that? “Very chivalrous of you,” she teased as he said he did what he could to help. Was he such a willing aid? She arched an eyebrow curiously and smiled to herself. “Well I suppose that goes both ways doesn’t it?” she teased. She could be helpful if she wanted to be, it all depending on what type of help he might need.

The rhythmic gyrations of her body continued, like some wild woman who cared not who saw her or what they had to say. She was like so many other women in there, but different, unique in her own body and methods of using it. Her hips shimmied, her waist rotated and her arms pulled him closer.

His hands found her hair and she leaned her head back allowing her dark tresses to cascade behind her. Eyes closed as if drunk, but far from it, her hips worked against him as she delved into her folly, into her own fantasy on the dance floor. It was a fun thing to do, to imagine things as you danced…what he would be like in bed…would he still be able to match her rhythm?

She laughed at her own thoughts. She wondered if she was turning him on. Call it a game for superiority, but she wanted to turn him on, to see if she could do that just with dancing alone. Was it a wicked game to play? Yes. Would she do it? Most definitely.

She released his neck then and turned to back him, pressing her behind and back against him and grinding just a little harder.

”I’m a regular knight in shining armor.” Romax replied with an expression entirely too charming to be called a smirk. But it wasn’t exactly a smile either. He laughed a little at calling what he was wearing armor; his jeans and shirt might be better than what you dug out of the bottom of the hamper, but they weren’t exactly classy either. Romax’s blue eyes glinted as she teased him, in the same manner he replied, “Suppose it does. Going to… help me?”

He’d never deny that dancing was sexy, but this one managed to put her own spin on it. She twisted against him, tempting him with her quick, suggestive movements. Underneath his hands, he could feel an erotic combination of sweat-slicked skin and the fabric of the strappy excuse for a blouse that she wore. Made him want to catch one of the strap’s ends and tug.

As he let his hands explore the long fall of her hair, falling in a dense color around her face, she leaned back. Her hips pistoned against his, made him think immediately of taking her to bed. Romax matched her rhythm, urged it to go faster and watched as her eyes closed and her head fell back, showcasing her throat.

It was all he could do to not lean forward and take a bite.

She turned in his arms, her back against his chest, rubbed her tight, hot body against his to stir him up. And it worked too, made him ache for a more intimate sort of rubbing. “Are you trying to make my eyes wheel or just kill me? If it’s the second, perhaps there’s a kinder way to do it.”

She smiled at his comment, knight in shining armour, maybe not but saving the trouble of having to find someone to have fun with. His clothes were casual, perfect for this setting so typical of the place and completely the opposite of what she would usually wear, or the men she was usually around would. He would have no idea how appealing that shirt and jeans were to her compared to stiff suits, tailored pants and alligator shoes.

The smile that followed was more flirtatious than the first as he suggested that she help him. “I can do my best,” she said teasing, her finger running down his chest and back again. Tonight she might be deemed a tease, a temptress and she wouldn’t have cared, because it was the mood she was in. She wanted to tempt, arouse and see just how far she could push a man. It was all part of the game, the thrill she was seeking in this place of nameless faces.

His hands added other dimension to the dance, allowed her mind to wander down other forbidden paths as their bodies moved as one. Her skin was sleek, beads of sweat running down her body as the heat from her body and those of the others around her built up into a furnace. It was the type of temperature that made you want to lose something, namely your clothes just to keep the heat down…though it would probably only succeed in increasing it.

He encouraged her, his movements willing her to increase her pace and she obeyed. She was enjoying it. This dance of temptation, this reckless abandon on the floor was making up for all those hours wearing a fine suit and tightly pinned up hair. It was replacing the board room, the meetings and the number crunching, the last thing she was thinking about was numbers.

She smirked at his comment as she danced against him. “Why would I want to kill you?” she teased. “I was just trying to have some fun. Aren’t you having fun?” she cooed looking over her shoulder at him, her hair falling over her shoulder. “If you’re not just tell me and…” she dipped her body down and pulled it back up slowly to tempt him, “I’ll stop.” She grinned at him like a cat who just caught the canary.

She had a thing for teasing. That was okay, he was a willing participant in the game of it, after all. "Ah, now, if the only alternative's that you stop, I'd rather continue this slow dance to death." As she grinned up at him, a faintly feline expression, he dipped his head, pausing just before his lips brushed over his.

"I'm having fun." Romax's eyes caught a strobe of light, flashed cobalt. He could tease as well, since she seemed to be having so much fun with it.

Falling back into the urging, surging rhythm of the music, he kept his eyes on hers as his hands moved, skillfully brushing lightly and gripping tightly in an unpredictable pattern meant to tease. They skimmed over glossy skin, combed through her hair to release a waft of scent.

He wanted her. Easing back, his smile once again neared the arrogant before he spoke. "Is it just teasing, then?" Romax murmured, his eyes on hers as he began to drift back, away from the pounding heart of the dance floor. In this light, this atmosphere, his gaze seemed to dare her to follow.

It was a bold and openly teasing move on her part, but she had done it just the same. It didn’t seem to bother him, and his words confirmed it. “Really?” she asked coyly. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Glad I can keep you so entertained,” she continued to tease, her brown eyes seeming lighter and then darker in the light.

His head dipped towards her, the time when a woman would pull away from such inquisitive actions, but she didn’t budge. She kept her eyes on his as if daring him to do it, to take a taste of her lips, and they did, gently brushing against hers.

“Good,” she said boldly, her eyes still locked on his. “I would be very disturbed if you weren’t,” she jested. The lights danced in his eyes, giving them a strange colour, somewhat black and forbidden. He was teasing her back, joining her in this mental dance of temptation. She liked it when they played along.

He fell back then, his hands exploring the new horizon of her body as if it were some uncharted land ready to be discovered. It was teasing, it was tempting, it was all the things she had come there for. It looked like she’d made a good choice in partner tonight. Excellent! His hands moved through her hair almost intimately in nature, and still she did not protest, she was enjoying this cat and mouse game of teasing.

He spoke again and her eyes settled on his face. “What more could it be?” she teased, knowing precisely what he meant but daring him to say it or make some kind of move. She watched him as he fell away from the crowd, leaving her standing there her body still moving to the music before she grinned and slowly began to follow.

The door creaked as he opened it, a cross complaint that was lost beneath the loud, surging pound of voice and music. He had let himself into a dark hallway. Romax made no sound as he crossed to lean against the wall, facing the door. For as decrepit as the building looked on the outside, the owner made sure to keep the interior well-maintained.

After all, the inside was where the action was.

He made quite the picture. His tall, strong frame was cloaked in equal parts by shadow and murky light, fell across his stubbled features and lent them a mysterious quality. Romax might never pass for handsome, his face was too plain and his nose a touch too long, but on this night he came close.

He had no doubt the woman would follow him. Just to entice, he would glance back at times, but keep moving. That was the way the game was played. One would seduce, tempt, tease and draw the other in. And when the night promised something more than seduction and temptation, they could do nothing more than plunge headlong into that enticing unknown.

Where were they going? She didn’t know, she was just following her instincts, a primal instinct that told her there was more fun to be had if she just went with the flow. What she was doing was reckless, even dangerous in someone else’s eyes but to Lor it was just part of the fun, part of the excitement of the night. Besides what could she possibly have to fear from this guy?

She sauntered after, each movement of her hips in her slow gait a dance and an invitation. Where was he taking her?

The door creaked as he opened it and she walked towards the frame and stood, waiting, watching patiently. It was a hallway, dark and deserted except for them. He appeared and disappeared in staggering shadows, reminding her of a game of hide-and-seek. He leaned against the wall watching the door where she stood, and she leaned against the frame watching. Well-maintained or not she didn’t notice, her eyes were on other things.

She smiled at his tall frame as he watched her and she watched him. He wasn’t a model, he wasn’t a god, he was just a man and that suited her fine, she wasn’t looking for perfection, she was looking for something else.

She made the final move, stepping inside that corridor and shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the door, a small smile on her face. “So what are we doing?” she asked teasingly, that smirk still playing at her lips.

She exuded such confidence--the way beautiful women did. Every move she made was assured and deliberate. Just watching her, you could easily see that she was sleekly impervious, equal parts feline and queen. Half in shadow, half in light, Romax studied her, studied that cloak of confidence.

His lips flickered as she stepped forward, but no, 'stepped' wasn't the right word. Women like this, they didn't walk, they swaggered or strolled. Every movement was calculated. If a hip rolled, it was to draw attention to the sinuous curve; a step landed just the right way to draw the eyes to the long, firm line of leg.

She leaned against the door, studied him in much the same way he watched her. Expectantly. Appraisingly. Amusedly. Romax pushed away from the wall, made sure to put the glide in his movements as he crossed to her. "We're teasing." His voice was low, almost rough, as one arm slipped around her back and he laid his forehead on her shoulder. Gently his hand rubbed little circles on her back, his other snuck up to trace the full lips.

“Don’t fight.”

Romax’s hand flattened over her mouth. Holding her tightly against him, careful to mind just how tight as he was strong enough to break her ribs if he wasn’t careful, he turned his head to slip fangs into her throat. They easily sank through the soft skin, released a throb of blood.

Lor watched him, wondering what he had in mind. She knew what was on her mind, and it would have been described as…deliciously naughty. She smiled, were they on the same page, was that why he had brought her here?

Yes this was risqué, what she had in mind and not the image that would have been accepted at Benson-Kramer and Becks, but she wasn’t there now was she? At the moment, she had no name and neither did he; they were two strangers out for a night of fun and who happened to find each other.

What was he waiting for? In the fading light he was handsome, a handsome face attached to a nice body and she wanted him. Yes, women had such animal desires that needed to be satisfied from time to time…and this was one of those times. She smirked at his response, “We’re teasing?” she repeated with a sly grin as he crossed the room towards her.

His arm slipped around her and her right wrapped around his neck pulling him close. This was more like it. His hands caressed her back, soothing and gentle as her nose nuzzled his cheek urging him on. She parted her lips as his fingers traced over them, sending a subtle shiver through her. His touch was so soft and…cold. That was odd.

Don’t fight? What was that supposed to mean?

Suddenly his hand clamped over her mouth and she panicked. She tried to raise her hand against him but found him much stronger than she imagined. She was pinned between him and the door and she couldn’t move. What was going on? What did he want? If it was sex he didn’t need to do this, Lor would have given in… she was in the mood, or had been up until that second. No this had to be more than just filling a sexual desire.

Her breath caught in her throat as a sharp pain ripped through her neck. She shook in fright, trying to get away, but even as she fought…she liked it. Her heart was beating fast, her eyes wide in fear and surprise, much like it did when she was off on some danger trip…bungee jumping…but stronger. Strange as it may sound, it wasn’t that bad. A soft sigh of a cry came from her lips as he drank from her. This wasn’t possible…it couldn’t be.

Her arms had linked loosely around his neck, an embrace, but her hands fisted now. Romax shuddered at the feel of her warm, soft body pressed against his colder, harder one. It was why his grip tightened even more, crushed her against him. He could feel the thunder of her heart against his chest and it too seemed to urge him on. She made a sound, he couldn’t tell if it was a whimper or a sigh, as his hand tightened, bruise-hard, over her mouth.

She struggled, twisting helplessly in his grasp. He had read once that man is a hunter by nature and knew that it was true. Like a predator, he felt a rush of adrenaline sear through his veins as she futilely fought against him. Lor might have been fit and strong for a human, but her strength was insignificant against his—and would have been even if he wasn’t a vampire.

Roughly, much more roughly than he’d intended, he drove his fangs deeper into her flesh, released an even greater torrent of blood. It pumped out hard and fast as her pulse was leaping wildly with fear. Blood poured into his eager mouth as he greedily suckled at the wounds. It was sweeter and more intoxicating than even the most delicious wine. Losing himself, he bit down brutally, mindlessly tearing her flesh even further.

In some dim corner of his mind that was still rational, Romax realized he was taking too much too fast. But it wasn’t enough to stop him. His fingers tightened around her mouth and wrist, wrenching her head to the side as his mouth clamped over the jagged tears. More, was all he could think, still more.

Her heart was like the hooves of a horse coming to the end stretch of a derby race…thundering. He squeezed her, making it harder to breathe. He was so strong, so very strong. She liked strong but this was far too strong to be normal. In her mind she knew he wasn’t normal, that he was something…something else. She dared not think about what it was he could be, such things weren’t real, they only existed in movies and books not stalking clubs. Yet how could she explain the fangs in her throat?

His hand clasped harder over her mouth, almost suffocating.

Has his fangs sank deeper into her, her heart leapt into another gear, faster and more panicked than before as pain and adrenaline rushed through her. Her fingers clutched at his hair and pulled trying to tear him away, but nothing she did made any difference. She couldn’t get away, he was too strong. Was he going to kill her? Tears welled up in her eyes and then spilled over.

Another crippling stab of pain coursed through her as he ravaged her neck. Her entire body shook, practically convulsed against him as her blood gushed into his mouth. She was going into shock, her skin was getting cold and clammy and her hand released its grip on his hair. She began to feel light-headed, her mind cloudy and dazed as her knees weakened and her body leaned against him for support.

Her breath was short shallow burst and she made one final attempt to set herself free and found her body to weak to manage it. She gave herself over to it, to the silent all-consuming haze. He was going to kill her…she was going to die.

Her hands were in his hair, almost like an embrace. She fought desperately, but he hardly noticed. Romax cared only for the gallop of her heart, the thunder of it as more of her blood poured into him. He couldn't get enough. It was flavored with her fear, a mix of adrenaline and panic and the scent of sweat.

Something wet on his cheek. What was it? It was... tears? She was crying. Were it any other time, Romax would have stopped. But he couldn't seem to. He had waited too long to feed, he had lost his control. Dammit, she tasted good. Slowly, as she shuddered against him, his frantic feeding slowed. Lor's skin grew colder as his warmed, her heat stolen away.

Her knees buckled. She fell against him as her body went limp, her muscles loosening. Her hands fell from his shoulders to hang lax. And still, he wanted more. If there was any thought in his mind, it was to take more, have more. Lorrea fell against him, his arms the only thing holding her up. Romax supported her with one arm, braced his other against the wall.

Cold, cracked plaster beneath his hand.

His eyes snapped up, the deep blue color surrounded by red. Reality rushed back. He was in a hallway, a party roared on the other side of the wall.

A woman was limp in his arms.

"Oh, God."

Romax nearly dropped her, jerking his head away at last. Unsupported, her head lolled backwards grotesquely. He stared at the terrible gashes in her neck. Blood oozed slowly from the ragged gouges, too slowly. Dragging his eyes away from what he'd done --what he'd done-- he found himself looking into an empty face, eyes glazed. "No. No, you're not dead yet, dammit." Furious, desperate, he scooped her into his arms. There was a window at the end of the hall.

He ran towards it. Fuck the car. Not fast enough. So he was going to do the stupid thing instead. In four long strides, he was at the window, turned so he crashed through it backwards. They were only two stories up. He'd never tried carrying someone before, but the thought didn't occur to him until he was only one story up. He gritted his teeth, concentrated harder.

And took off.

It wasn't that much later when he clumsily staggered into the emergency room. "I need--help!"

She could hear the music but it seemed so distant. It was getting darker, so dark and so cold. She wasn’t fighting anymore, she couldn’t there just wasn’t enough left inside her to even try. She could almost hear him drinking but it was masked in this hollowness in her head that she couldn’t escape.

He didn’t care what she was feeling; he didn’t even know her name. She was nameless just has she had wanted and now he was going to kill her.

Her breath became shallower, emptier as the blood in her lungs decreased and so did her oxygen supply. Her tears were meaningless now. She hung in his arms like a rag doll, legs weak and arms limp. She could barely keep her head up but he did that for her, his fangs buried in her neck.

Then it went black, utterly and completely and she knew she was about to die. She lost consciousness.

Her limp body jerked as he released her, her head bobbing around like a toy. She felt nothing, she heard nothing, her eyes barely opened but glazed into emptiness. She still breathed, just barely teetering on the edge of oblivion.

He lifted her into his arms, his protests and anger going unnoticed by the limp body that was Lorrea.

Somewhere along the way, her eyes opened for a brief moment as they soared through the air. She looked at his face, the wind in his hair, before her eyes rolled back behind closed lids.

At the emergency room Romax’s shouts of help sent orderlies scurrying in his direction. “What happened?” one large man asked as he lifted Lor from him and placed her on a gurney and began pushing to her towards a room at a run. “What’s her name?” Lor heard nothing, she was pale and cold and her heart barely beat in her chest. Much longer and she would cease to be.

It happened quickly. Men and women in scrubs of various bright colors came scurrying. The wounds on her neck still bled sluggishly, seeped dark blood into her hair. He smell it and, God help him, he had to fight the urge to take her and drain her dry. It helped that they lifted her away, laid her on a gurney.

One of them asked him something, but Romax didn't hear. He stared at the cuts. The blood.

The large orderly recognized the glazed look and grabbed the vampire. "Listen to me. Listen!"

Blankly, Romax's eyes moved from Lor to the orderly.

"What happened?" The orderly asked, slowly and clearly.

"I don't..." Desperately, Romax scrambled for an explanation. One hand raked through his hair. They were taking her away, sprawled like a doll on the gurney. He watched as the took gauze pads, pressed them hard against her neck. The orderly shook him and he snapped back. "She was--I saw... There was a guy. He was holding her. I think--I don't--there was a knife."

"Do you know if she's on any drugs?"

No. But he couldn't say that. How would he know? No, she's clean. If she was on something, I would have tasted it as I ripped her throat open. "No... I don't know. I just--saw--them."

They worked on her, pressing gauze into her throat and somewhere a doctor called for blood. Her eyes were disturbed but Lor couldn’t see them. She looked at the wounds on her neck trying to stop the bleed and save her life. An orderly was with Romax questioning as to what happened to her.

She couldn’t answer their questions; she didn’t know they were there.

Drugs? Lor hadn’t used drugs since her college days, the answer to that was a definite no. However, they weren’t asking her, they were answering the man who had killed her. Wherever her mind was, floating in the dark abyss he had left her in, she could barely hear voices all distant and all strange and unfamiliar.

They put an oxygen mask over her face to aid her breathing, what good it would do was debatable; she was in a bad state it was very possible she wasn’t going to make it.

“Okay, wait there,” the orderly commanded, “the police will want to talk to you.” They had been called of course; an attack always merited police involvement. “Where’s that blood?” the doctor screamed at the top of her lungs and she began to repair the damage to Lorrea’s neck as best she could. “I need blood people!” she kept demanding as her fingers nimbly worked the instruments in her hands.

“What did he say happen here?” she asked the orderly as he entered, and he conveyed the story of a man and a knife. She shook her head…a knife? It looked more like an animal took a bite into her. He was a beast whoever he was that had done this.

"Police?"

The orderly gave him a look. "Any violent crime needs to be reported if the victim is unable to state their wishes." He replied, then disappeared through the swinging doors that the others had.

"Oh... fuck me." Romax splayed a hand over his face and stumbled to a hard chair. Shit, shit, shitshitshit. Police meant explanations. Police were not good. They might not be able to arrest him, but they would complicate his life.

Right. You don't deserve to have your life complicated. Not like you just killed a woman or anything.

Romax tipped his head back, stared at the ceiling. He could just leave. Nobody was here to make him stay. But then he thought about the woman and the gashes his fangs had left in her neck. Jesus... he'd stay.

A nurse slammed through the doors, wearing a mask and holding two bags in her hands. "I've got the O-neg and fresh frozen plasma." She announced calmly, heading towards the doctor to hook the bags up.

The heart monitor beat with a slow steady…beep…beep…beep. The space was so far between them, so slow it seemed almost to stop and then start again. Masked faces looked down at her, nurses checked monitors and readings while the doctor stitched and sweat over her body trying to repair her neck and stop her bleeding.

One moment it seemed all was going well then suddenly, “Shit…I got a bleed!” the female doctor cried out. “Gauze!” she commanded as she tried to stop the steadily growing pool of blood. “Where’s my blood?” she called again shaking her head exasperated. She said something under her breath, something that was none too nice.

It seemed to be forever but finally, “It’s about time,” the woman declared as she worked feverishly to save the poor woman before her. They hooked up the blood and plasma, feeding them into her IV.

The time went by, time that seemed forever to someone who was waiting impatiently for news of a loved one, but there was no such person there now. The police arrived, Lor was still in surgery and there were plenty of questions to be asked. Two officers strolled into the emergency room, checking the desk before finding the man they were looking for. He was seated there, and they walked up to him. “Sir? We have some questions,” one man asked in rather rough and authoritative voice.

The other officer took out a notepad as they began to question Romax. “What is your name?” was their first question for the night. Others would follow: Where had he found her? Did he see anything? Did he know her? There were many more questions.

Sometime later the doctor walked into the room to speak to the officers. Their faces were stern as she approached. Was she dead? If she was then their investigation was about to get more complicated. “She’s alive…barely. She’s critical but we have hopes that if she makes it through the night then she’ll be fine.” She gave a small smile and returned to her rounds.

He'd lost track of time. Sitting outside the emergency room, Romax could see nothing of what was going on. Scrub-clad figures whisked in and out, but no new patients entered. The waiting room was sparsely populated. There were a few people who looked homeless, covered in oily, filthy rags that passed for clothes. A couple of red-faced babies cried.

Romax stared at nothing, let his mind go blank. There were a few hours before daylight, but if it took too long he'd have to leave before the police arrived. He couldn't get stuck in the hospital, a place with too many windows and where he didn't know safe spots to hide from them.

Moot point, though. Two men swaggered in. One of them (the taller, fitter one) had that cocky strut, his right arm swinging out around his weapon. Romax immediately disliked him. Probably going to play movie-star detective.

"Sir? We have some questions."

Well, of course you did. That's why you were here, wasn't it? His voice was authoritative and just a little smug. I have a badge. That makes me better than you. Romax sighed as he looked up at them, rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. "Romax, Romax Finch," he replied carefully, his eyes studiously neutral as they met the cop's.

A nurse or doctor came out. If the girl survived the night, she'd be fine. That was... reassuring.

The monitor beeped to the rhythm of heart, stronger and more sure than it had been before. Her chart rested at the bottom of her bed, hooked onto the rail with scratchy almost illegible writing on it. Why was it that doctors had the worst handwriting of anyone in creation? The name on the chart was Jane Doe. Lor hadn’t walked with ID she knew better than that, she wanted to be anonymous and now she was. She was a nameless assault victim.

Her chest rose and fell in steady waves, an oxygen mask still over her face to aid her breathing. She was unconscious but alive. Her mind had closed itself off from the world in order to heal, and there was much healing to be done. Her neck was carefully bandaged, protecting the soft flesh and vulnerable stitches from infection. Little did she or anyone know that the man responsible for everything was a few feet away making a statement to the police.

“Did she say anything?” the taller officer asked, ignoring the fact that Lor would be alright if she made it through the night. It wasn’t his concern either way really; he would have to investigate it no matter the outcome. The doctor shook her head, “No…hasn’t said a word.” They thanked her and watched her leave, turning their attention back to their only witness, at least one who could talk. In cases like these getting the information as soon as possible was key, there was no telling what if anything the victim would remember, if she woke up. For the time being, this man was their only lead.

“Romax Finch?” the officer repeated half questioning the name. “And what do you do Mister Finch?” he continued to question. “Now tell me did you see her with anyone? Is there anything you can remember than can help us? I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how important this is, there’s a lady in there fighting for her life, I’d like to be able to tell her family something when we find out who she is.”

Romax didn't look at the woman, lying so still on the narrow bed. There were wires everywhere, hooking her to machines and the machines to her. They beeped, the machines did, steady rhythms. He didn't want to see her pale, blank face with the eyes shut or the clear mask over her nose and mouth.

He certainly didn't want to see the thick, feathery bandages on her neck or to think what was beneath them. So he turned his back on her, focused his attention on the two expressionless cops.

"I teach," Romax replied to the first officer, the only one so far who had spoken, "full-time at Demaitre University. I saw only her. The man who attacked her was wearing dark clothes and it was—really hard to see him. I was, um, walking home from the corner store when I heard them. They were in an—an alley. I shouted at the guy and he shoved her over, running past me to get away. I tried to trip him, but, well, I didn't. He knocked the wind out of me. So, I tried to see if she was okay, which, well, you can kind of see she wasn't. I don't own a cell phone so I just picked her up and ran here." He'd worked on his story and told it calmly enough. Not completely calmly, but what would you expect from a guy who had just witnessed a violent mugging.

He put his head in his hands. “God, there was blood everywhere.” But as the cop continued speaking, Romax looked at him with hard blue eyes. “Don’t guilt-trip me, officer. There’s no need for it.”

Was he feeling guilty for what had happened? He ought to. She was barely hanging on to life because of him, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. He hadn’t brought her to the club; he hadn’t forced her to follow him into the little space. He didn’t make her do anything; she had chosen to follow him, looking for another big thrill. She got it alright, but at what price?

The other officer, the silent brooding one just scribbled away at his pad, never even looking at Romax. For all that officer knew the man had blue eyes, green hair and a horn sticking out of his nose. The other officer made up for it however.

The tall officer nodded and looked over to make sure that his partner was getting everything. “So there’s nothing you can tell us about this guy?” he asked again. It was procedure to repeat the same question a million different ways. Sometimes the repetitiveness of it made witnesses remember things as their minds got flustered and their tempers flared a little.

“You’re lucky you aren’t in there you know?” he told Romax looking down at him. “That guy could have done the same to you,” he said his head leaning towards the room where Lor lay. “I’m sure she’d thank you though,” he added. “Not everyone would have stopped to help.” He gave Romax a small smile never catching on that his reaction might be an act, “It’s okay buddy. The doc says she’ll be fine if she gets through the night.” He didn’t respond to Romax’s comment about guilt-tripping him. “Well I think we have everything for now. We’ll get in contact with you if there’s anything else. Goodnight.” The pair walked away heading for the nurses’ desk to question what they’d seen and then in search of the doctor.

A nurse stepped out from behind her desk and crossed to Romax. "Can I get you anything sir?" she asked compassionately. He had been through a lot, saved the woman's life, he deserved at least a cup of coffee or something.

"Just that he was tall and completely dressed in dark colors. And he was wearing a sweater thing--a hoodie." Romax replied, still avoiding looking at the woman. He found the cop's next statement rather ironic. "Yeah, lucky." He muttered, raking a hand through his hair. As for her thanking him, well, somehow Romax doubted that.

When they left, he didn't have any choice but to look at her, pale and her eyes shut. He just looked at her. There was guilt in him, he couldn't deny that, and a kind of anger. At her. Completely irrational, but there you go. After all, he never would have fed from her if she hadn't gone to the party, right?

You would have fed from somebody. That's why you were there. You're the one that couldn't control himself.

A nurse came in. He glanced at her, his eyes distracted and unfocused now that the police had left. "Ah... no, no thank you. I think... I'm going to go home." His car was still at the warehouse. Slowly, he began to walk from the hospital room.

He was angry at Lor for being at a party? Was he insane? Lor was one of over a hundred women at that party, why had he picked her and not someone else? He didn’t have to go that night; he could have kept lurking in the shadows and never gone in? Wouldn’t that have changed everything? She wouldn’t be there now if he’d had control. She wouldn’t need blood now, lying pale and cold on the bed connected to machines.

Yes there was blame to share, but most of it would be on him. You couldn’t blame her for wanting to have some fun could you? That was all she was looking for, a bit of fun.

The nurse smiled at Romax, could just tell she was new, the jaded look hadn’t crept into her face yet. Yes she was new and optimistic about helping people. Just wait, give her a few years and she’d be the one telling you to sign the form and take a seat a doctor will get to you, but never both to even look at your face.

“Are you sure?” she asked curiously. “It’s hot and you look like you need it,” she continued. She nodded her head as he got up from his seat and began to head to the door. She walked back to her station. “Wait!” she called walking after him. “Would you like us to contact you to give you an update on her condition?” she asked curiously, the hopeful tone to her voice. She looked at Lor in the bed and back to Romax. “We don’t know who she is but someone should care if she makes it, don’t you think?”

Romax coaxed a polite smile to life. Coffee probably would be good, if he could drink it without dying. He was still young enough to remember the taste of coffee, even though he hadn't had any in a decade. "No, really, I'm fine." Her bouncy smile struck him as out of place, this young chipper being in a place full of cranky people.

He smiled again, forced, as he walked past her and headed for the doors. But she stopped him, calling out to him again. He didn't really want to leave his name or anything, but... well, he'd already given it to the police. If the woman really wanted it, she could get it. And if she pressed charges...

He'd have to leave. But the nurse was watching him insistently.

Trapped, he walked back to the desk saying, "Ah... yes, I suppose so." Romax took the pad she offered him, scribbling his office number down. "I--yes, someone should know."

Heading towards the exit again, a hopeful thought occurred to him. Even if she did press charges, what would she say? That he was a vampire? No one would believe that. Maybe this wouldn't be disastrous after all...

But hope is only hope.

She smiled at his response and watched gleefully as he walked back to her desk and jotted down his number. She felt pretty good about herself at the moment. She wanted to be sure the woman had someone; you never knew what could happen in a few hours. What if she died and no one in her family knew? Someone had to know, someone had to care and who better than the man who brought here there.

She looked over his number and smiled, “I’ll be sure to call you,” she said chipper before watching him walk away. She walked into Lor’s room then, fixed her blanket and checked her drip.

“Don’t you worry, you’ll be fine. I’m sure of it,” she told her softly before she left. The monitors continued to beep in their steady rhythm and Lor remained still, unblinking and lost in her own mind. She would not wake to late the next day.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, the lights blinding her as her eyes tried to focus. There was a woman standing over her with a clipboard making some notes. Lor looked up at her and her hand reached up. She wanted to speak but the doctor told her not to. She wouldn’t be able to speak for a few days. “I’ll get you a notepad,” she told her, sending a nurse to fetch one. “You’re in the hospital. You were brought here last night. You were attacked but you’re safe now.”

Lor stayed still as the doctor examined her and her mind flashed back to what had happened. She was lucky to be alive. What was he? She couldn’t think straight but she knew she couldn’t tell anyone what happened, they would think she was insane besides how would she explain things to her boss. No, she couldn’t tell them what happened but she had to know for herself she had to find out.

Outside, the sun was shining behind a gauzy curtain of high, thin clouds. The air was warm, but the breeze cool. Demaitre University's campus was neatly maintained and a few students wandered around. The picturesque college campus. In his classroom it was dim, but almost cozy with the yellow lamplight. Romax clicked the projector to a new PowerPoint.

"In 1348, the Black Death struck Europe. It is believed to have been brought from the steppes of Asia and entered Europe through Italian ports and trade centers. Because the plague is Asian, the Europeans had no defenses against it." He used a thin rod to point out the neck of a man in the picture displayed on the screen. "Note the swelling of the neck here. It was a common indicator that one had been struck by the plague." Turning from the image, he leaned on his desk as he studied his students.

The change in his appearance was remarkable. He had shaved away the stubble, which took away the edge his features had had and left them plain. The nose was too long and the overall appearance was inoffensive, but distinctly bland. His hair had been cut, the slightly shabby locks trimmed to a neat, almost military, style. Romax was almost unrecognizable from the night at the party.

"Can anyone tell me what the European physicians did to try to help those stricken with the plague?"

One young man with a ponytail and a black shirt that said System of a Down raised his hand. "Didn't they, like, put leeches on them?"

"Sometimes. It was an attempt to release the so-called 'bad blood' that had been poisoned. Usually, however, the physician would simply take a silver knife and open a vein in the patient's arm. Incredible, isn't it, that they would think the cure was to slice open the person? They had no understanding of medicine then, not as we know it. They did the best they could, although there have been no recorded instances where a person has been helped by bloodletting."

It had been over two weeks since her attack and hospitalization, and nothing but his face haunted her thoughts. Her entire office had been sympathetic after they heard of her accident. She’d told the police she’d been at a party and was headed back to her car when someone grabbed her from behind. She claimed to never see his face and that she wasn’t sure what happened, she just remembered something shining and then pain. She told them her name was Jenny Scheltzer. Then that night, before they got back, Jenny Scheltzer disappeared from the hospital. She guessed by now they’d given up on finding her, if they’d even bothered at all. There really wasn’t anything they could do, she saw nothing and there was no other evidence. She claimed she passed out after seeing the blade. However, her story was slightly different to her co-workers, for them she had stopped at a mini mart to get a few items and had been attacked and mugged and that was how she’d been cut.

She’d found a private doctor to take care of her after that. He wrote up all the documents she needed to make everything look legit for work. The doctor was an old friend, used to patching Lor up when she got into one scrape or another. He never asked questions and he never spoke about anything to anyone. She adored him for that.

She looked at the nasty jagged scar on her neck as she changed her bandages. It would be a few more days before the stitches came out. Damn it was ugly and hurt. She clamped another bandaged over it and stepped out of the bathroom.

Night after night she flashed back to that night, recalling everything to the minutest detail. She remembered how his mouth found her neck and how he drank her blood, the dizzying feeling of it. She couldn’t explain it, but she had liked that dizzying high it was all she could think about. Perhaps that was why she had gone back to the hospital to find out who he was. The nurse gave her his number and name, the same chipper woman who had spoken to her while she was unconscious. Lor claimed to have been embarrassed by the event that was why she had run. The woman seemed to believe her and the minute Lor got what she wanted she was gone.

Lor parked her car outside Demaitre University. “Professor Charles Finch,” she said to herself as she read the name off the bit of paper in her hand. She made her way to the reception area to enquire where she could find Professor Finch. She was told he was in a class, and after a few well placed smiles the young man behind the desk helped her find the classroom.

She looked entirely different now, her party clothes were well put away in a closet at home and now she looked very casual in an orange sun dress and white thong slippers. Her hair was combed over her shoulder to hide the bandage on her neck. She walked up the door hearing the class going on. She thanked the young man and then opened to door to peer inside. It was dimly lit for a classroom but she supped she knew why. She opened the door and slipped into a chair in the back watching him. He looked different, plainer than she remembered but she was sure it was, she could remember that voice, she dreamt about it.

As he was speaking, Romax paused as the door opened, raising an eyebrow. Mostly, he was expecting a student from another class asking to borrow something like the text (as Mrs. Bannon tended to forget her copy). He was sure it wasn't a student from his own class--if anyone was that late, they would skip entirely.

So the surprise wasn't quite hidden as he watched Lor enter. The mildly inquisitive look was replaced with a distinct loss of composure. He'd never expected to see her again, though he had to admit that for a week after she'd gotten out of the hospital he'd expected police to knock at his door. She looked... different, he registered absently. No white leather, no skin, but a simple sundress instead.

With effort, he pulled his attention back to the class as some of the students shifted and muttered, watching the newcomer with interest. "Ah... The consequences of the plague were huge. One-third of Europe's population died, most of whom lived in the towns. Rural farming people were less affected due to less contact with each other and therefore less transmission of the plague." Romax seemed to hit his stride again, but he carefully kept from meeting Lor's eyes as he continued the lecture.

About ten minutes before normal dismissal time, he glanced at his watch. "Okay. For extra-credit, I want a short essay on one of the following topics to be presented to me before the start of the next class. The topics are either how the plague came to Europe and how it spread or how the medieval physicians treated the disease and some myths on how to keep safe. Class dismissed." There was the predictable rustle and general increase in noise as students swung bags onto shoulders and stuffed papers into folders.

Romax finally looked in Lorrea's direction again, briefly, as he spoke with one of the students on her research essay.