Death Comes at Night (BB/Savvy)

Philip LeBlanc walked the streets of Paris warily. The last few weeks, he had begun to feel as if someone was continually watching him. His long-term girlfriend had noticed the hunted look in his eyes, and sent him to the larger city for a vacation. She said that he had gotten too much into the murder mysteries he wrote. But even in these crowded streets, he felt singled out. He stopped at a cafe and ordered himself a hot cup of cafe au lait. He placed the hot cup near his face, breathing in the steam. It had a calming effect on him. He looked out onto the Parisian street. With a start, he noticed a beautiful woman staring at him. He had seen her before - he was sure of it. There was no way he could mistake that face for another.

She was tall and lean, but generously built. Her classy clothes were dark black and red, which contrasted splendidly with her cream colored skin. Her long red hair flowed down her back like liquid fire. But it was her eyes that had transfixed him so. Even shadowed by the parasol she carried, they held a predatory gleam to them. They were bright orange, gleaming with some unknown desire. Her tongue flicked over her sensual strawberry lips as she stared at him, daring him to come to her. He couldn't resist those eyes.

He stood up, leaving his coffee half-drunk, and began to walk towards her. He knew he shouldn't - knew that he would regret it if he ever cheated on his girl - but something about her demanded attention. And he was too weak to refuse her. She smiled at him, and crooked one finger in invitation. She turned towards an alley, spinning her parasol behind her like an enticing flower. And he was to be the helpless bee. He followed her into the shadows.

He looked around, confused. The captivating woman seemed to have vanished. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. He tried to turn around, but something cold restrained his head. What felt like fingers of ice stroked his now feverish neck. He couldn't move. And then he felt it. He felt something pierce his neck, straight into a vein. He could feel his blood trickling down into the collar of his suit. There didn't seem to be much blood though. What a strange thing to notice, at a time like this. He opened his mouth to scream, but a vice-like grip settled over his mouth, and no sound came out. His eyes bulged. The pain slowly receded as the sharp object left his neck. His knees gave out, but that unyielding strength that had restrained him, now lay him gently onto the concrete. His breath came in gasps. He had written enough deaths to recognize his own. The last thing he saw before he passed out was a stream of flame-red hair bending over him. In the darkness, he heard a voice, smooth as velvet.

"Don't worry, my pet. Drink from me. Drink my life, and find your own." Even in his delusional state, the voice unnerved him. He felt something warm and metallic sliding down his throat. He tried to spit it out - it tasted like poison - but he couldn't help but drink a bit. It made his stomach churn. And then all that was left was blackness, and pain. That was strange; he had always thought death would be calm, but it burned. Perhaps this was Hell.

Trisana stared out into the busy street, leaning backwards in her seat with her feet on the chair opposite her as she surveyed the people who swarmed the sidewalks and streets. Every once and a while she would close her eyes and sip the cup of tea in her hands, smiling slightly as the warmth spread through her chest. She had bundled herself up in a black button-up jacket that was almost too big for her, her small pale fingers barely sticking out the ends of them to hold her cup. Her hair was pulled back in a soft, messy bun that sat on top of her head, and small-framed black gasses rested on her nose, magnifying her blue-green eyes as they wandered the New York street.

She was alone today, as had she been for the past week, as she sat facing the window. Normally she was accompanied by Philip, but the last seven or so days he had been in Paris, on her instruction. She was simply worried about him, and wanted him to get away from New York. Lately he had been distracted, and rarely could he keep his concentration on one thing. He rarely slept anymore, and he stayed out a lot. She knew he wasn’t cheating on her; his conscience was too harsh for him to do anything like that, and he would have told her. Sometimes she doubted, but she was always reassured as she would look back on their history. They had been together through such an extensive period of time, and they had been through so much, that she would have known if something like that was going on.

But she had sent him home, to France. She knew that the clean air would help his mind, and hopefully when he came home they could continue with their lives. Trisana was hoping they could get back on track, and before all of this had happened, she was sure he was going to propose. But it wasn’t long after that thought that his behavior started changing, and he was withdrawing into himself. It was a horrible feeling, but the most that she knew that she could do was be there for him when he needed her…

Trisana sipped the rest of her tea and sat the cup down on the table in front of her, and then dropped her hands in her lap as she took in a deep breath. She continued to study the bustling street, but soon her eyelids were starting to feel heavy, and she couldn’t help but succumb to the marvelous feeling of sleep that enveloped her. She leaned over the table and crossed her arms in front of her and laid down on them, the side of her face lying sweetly in the crook of her right arm, her eyes lazily opening and closing as she tried feebly to fight off sleep. It was a battle she was fast losing, and she knew it. Every time she would open her eyes again, the light had faded more and more outside.

What felt like ten minutes to her ended up being a couple of hours, because the shop owners were soon shaking her awake gently. Her eyes fluttered open as she sat up slowly, straightening her glasses as she apologized for falling asleep. The owners assured her that it was no problem, and turned away from her to continue on with their daily closing routine. Trisana sat up straight and stretched her arms in the air, her mouth opening wide in a yawn as she did so. She blinked a few times before she rose from her chair lazily, not wanting to trudge up her stairs into her home. Lucky for her, the coffee shop she oftentimes hung out at was located conveniently across the street from the apartment she shared with Philip.

She pushed in her chair and walked to the shop door, turning around to bid farewell to the owners and employees. They waved a goodbye to her, wishing her to be safe, before the all returned to their tasks. Trisana smiled as she pushed open the shop door, grimacing as the icy cold air blew in her face and stung her nostrils. She stepped out on the sidewalk and felt the door swing shut behind her. She wrapped her arms around herself before she looked to her right, and then to her left. There were quite a few people walking down the sidewalk, but that wasn’t unusual for New York. She faced the street and took a deep breath before edging closer to it, looking down the street for an opportunity to run across.

Once on the other side, she bounded up the steps to the apartment and swung open the door, immediately pulling her key from her pocket and shoving it in the lock that kept her from entering the complex. Once inside she bounded up two more flights of stairs before she stood in front of her door, and she repeated the action; she slid the key into the lock, but struggled with getting the door open. Once inside, though, she turned and locked the four locks on her door; it was just one of those things you had to do when you lived in a city like NYC. She turned again and dropped her keys on a table next to an answering machine, pressing a small black button next to a red blinking like.

“Hey Tris, it’s Philip. Calling to let you know that Paris is great. I wish you were here…” beep There was a small pause, then “Trisana! It’s Katie. I just got wind of a sale on Grand street; you know, the Ted Baker London? Look, I know you don’t have a lot of money, but could you at least come with me? As a consultant? You know I’m hopeless when it comes to fashion. Anyways, call me when you can.” Beep Trisana’s ears rung after the answering machine was silent, and the dead quiet of the apartment was driving her mad. She picked up a remote and turned on her stereo, a smooth jazz slowly filling the room. She walked to her couch and dropped into it, allowing it to swallow her as she relaxed.

The whole apartment was littered with evidence of Philip. There were pictures on the walls and coffee tables, his shoes lay next to the couch as if he hadn’t even left for Paris. There were small things that men do, like put cups open-side-up in the cupboard, or the messiness of his office, or the indentation of his body on the recliner that sat in the corner that gave him away. Trisana sighed heavily as she stared at the ceiling, dreading the next day when she would have to clean the apartment from top to bottom for Philip. She knew that she enjoyed coming home to a clean house, she could only imagine the same for him.

Her eyes drifted closed again as she concentrated on the music, and she began to skim the surface of unconsciousness, every once and a while submerging completely before she would emerge out of it and take a deep breath. After a few moments of this, she moved herself and laid down on the couch and kicked off her shoes, slowly allowing sleep to carry her away.

In the dark alleyway of Paris, Philip stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and he suppressed a groan. What time was it? He had obviously been unconscious for a long time; the sun was down now. He sat up, and shook his head. He could remember parts of the attack, but a lot of things were still hazy. He looked around him. Trisana. That was one thing he remembered clearly. She was his, and she was waiting for him. He had a flight to catch, didn't he? To his surprise, he was still wearing his watch. He looked at it now. His plane left in two hours, which would put him home in time for supper. He shook his head, and hesitantly stood up. He patted his pockets, unable to believe that his attacker had not stolen something. Everything seemed to be where it belonged, though. He couldn't even report this to the police - not really. After all, nothing had been stolen, and he hadn't even been hurt.

In fact, other than a sliver of dried blood he brushed off of his neck, he felt fine. He felt stronger and more alive than ever. He couldn't wait to get home to Trisana. He bet she would love this new energy he was feeling. As he walked though, he realized that he was incredibly hungry. Most of the shops were closed at this hour, but he paused as he passed an abandoned boucherie. The raw salted meat that was hanging in the window seemed to be calling to him. He found this strange; he had never really liked meat that much. Regardless, he couldn't resist its smell. Before he knew what was happening, he had broken into the window, and grabbed a leg of lamb. The alarm went off, and he began to run. He looked back after a second, expecting to find Paris' finest right on his tail. To his surprise though, the sirens were far away. They must have turned down the wrong street.

He continued walking towards his hotel, munching on the raw leg as he went. He threw the bone into a wast bin he found, and wiped the blood off of his hands. While that had been good, it hadn't really eased his hunger. He would have to ignore it though. He wasn't about to break into anywhere else. He went up to his room, and packed quickly. He was beginning to notice things he hadn't before. He could smell the hotel clerk at the front counter three floors away. He could see what looked like individual specks of dust on his clothes and bed. He could hear the couple on the tenth floor enjoying their honeymoon. . . he shivered, although he wasn't cold. What had happened to him?

In a slight panic, he headed for the airport. He decided to walk to there, to waste time. It only seemed like minutes though, before he had reached the already crowded building. This was bad. His hunger had flared up again, making him want to double over in pain. And his newly acquired sense of hearing was going into overdrive. Each plane taking off, each baby crying, each whispered conversation, rang in his ears. The noise was deafening. His eyes began to water as he put his hands to his ears. A few people gave him strange looks, but none offered to help. He got on the plane as quickly as possible, and sat down at a window seat. He pressed his face up against the glass, hoping it would cool him down. It did not help at all, however.

A peppy looking girl sat down next to him, and gave him a pretty smile. She obviously planned to flirt, but he deterred her with one glare. He had never been a particularly intimidating person; his pretty face usually distorted any attempt to appear mean. He must have done something right this time though, for the girl quickly decided that she had found the wrong seat. She stood up with a stumbled apology. The air waitress began to rattle off safety tips, which made Philip growl. Just make the damn plane take off already!

Finally, with a roar that had Philip quivering in his seat, the plane took off. He closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. He soon found that he had no desire to do so, however. His stomach was beginning to clench in knots of pain, and he didn't feel tired in the least. He couldn't help but notice how good all these people smelt. He shook his head. People would begin to think he was a freak if he continued thinking such things. He curled up into a ball in an attempt to fight off his hunger. Despite the pain in his stomach, he got nauseous at the aroma's of cooked meat as other people began to order their breakfast. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to bare with it. This was going to be the longest eight hours of his life.

Trisana rolled over, half asleep, on the couch while attempting to cover her face with a pillow to shield out the light the flowed into the apartment from the window that took up most of the right hand wall. She groaned as she rolled onto her back, taking a deep breath as her eyes fluttered open. She stared at the ceiling for a long time before she sat up, her hair a piled mess on her head. She yawned before she reached up to her hair and pulled the rubber band out, allowing her hair to tumble to her shoulders. She shook her head once before she ran her fingers through her hair, and then she reached up and pulled it back again.

She sighed heavily as she stood up, and then she made her way to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth quickly before looking at herself in the mirror, at which point she rubbed her eyes and turned back out of the bathroom again. She paused at the doorway to the living room and examined it, estimating the amount of cleaning she was going to have to do before she had to go and pick Philip up from the airport. After her inspection, she made her way to the kitchen and began to clean up, her mind wandering as the soft music (that she had forgotten to turn off last night) flowed through the apartment. She missed Philip, and was seriously hoping that everything would get back on track when he came home.

Time flew as she finished cleaning the apartment and she stood at the front door and smiled, proud of herself. The place hadn’t undergone such a thorough cleaning since before they moved in… Trisana laughed at this thought before she made her way to the bathroom and stripped her clothes. She turned the hot water on to ready a shower as she pulled her glasses off her face and put them on the counter and then reached up and pulled her hair tie out softly. She stepped into the shower and followed her daily routine. When she turned the water off, she stepped out of the shower and pulled the towel off the rack and wrapped herself in it before she made her way to their bedroom to pick out something to wear. She was excited, and therefore she wanted to look nice for her boyfriend when he arrived. The flight wasn’t due to land until six o’ clock, but it was two in the afternoon, and traffic was horrible when trying to reach the airport from her location.

What she picked out wasn’t extraordinarily dressy; a simple button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a nice pair of blue jeans. But it was good looking for her. And that’s what mattered. She made her way back to the bathroom, where she blow-dried her hair and readied her face. Just a few touch-ups here and there, some mascara and eye liner. Not much, just enough to accent her eyes, before she pulled her square glasses back onto her face. She stared at herself in the mirror contentedly, and then walked into the living room where she slipped on her socks and shoes and grabbed a coat, along with her wallet and house key. She took one last full glance at the home before she turned and walked out of her door, locking it behind her. As she bounded down the steps to the entrance to the building, she slipped on her jacket and buttoned in up just before she stepped outside.

She gasped as she was hit with a short gust of cold air, her nostrils flaring as she continued to breathe in heavily. She bounded to the street and flagged a taxi, crawled in, and gave the driver instructions on where to take her.
About an hour later she was walking through the doors to the busy airport, quickly contemplating if she should buy a coffee or not. She soon decided against the decision, afraid what it might make her breath smell like. She walked to a flight board and searched for Philips flight, her foot tapping rhythmically on the ground in anticipation. She looked at the time in the upper right hand corner and it read almost five thirty. She was shocked that she had taken so long to get ready, but she searched until she found Philip’s terminal and turned on her heel to make her way there.

She was sitting in a chair, staring idly at the television monitor as the news flashed across the screen when his plane landed. She took a deep breath and stood up, her stomach doing summersaults. She was smiling as she stood on her tip-toes across the crowd in front of her, trying her best to spot the top of her boyfriend’s head. She was trying her best not to jump up and down, and she was sure that she was going to have to resist the urge to flat out tackle Philip when he emerged. A smile had erupted on her face and was stretching from ear to ear, exposing her gleaming white teeth. She stood taller on her tip toes as she searched for his face, her stomach rolling and her heart hopeful.

Philip had managed to endure the flight through sheer will power. He had tried the airline food, ordering a rare steak. They refused to make it rare enough though, and he found himself unable to touch it. By the time the flight was over, he was trembling and sweating in his seat. His body ached from hunger and fatigue, but he was able to get no sleep. He felt the plane begin to descend, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. At least it would be over soon. The passengers were bumped about as the wheels of the plane hit the runway with a deafening thud. Philip looked around, wondering why no one else seemed bothered. They were all gathering their carry-on bags as if there was nothing wrong. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the screeching that was assaulting his ears.

The passengers began to unload, and Philip was able to breath again, if only a little. At least their intoxicating perfume wasn't as strong now. He opened his eyes as a helpful air-line attendant walked up to him.
"Sir," she said with a friendly smile, "the flight has landed. Would you like to get off now?"
He stared at her with his blood-shot eyes, and she took a step back, suddenly unnerved. He felt a low rumble building from his throat, and his muscles tensed to pounce. He wanted her. Her soft looking skin moved pleasantly as she shifted uncomfortably. He shook his head. No, he couldn't do anything. His love, his life, his Trisana was waiting for him just below. With unbelievable speed, he jumped up and ran past the girl, knocking her down in the process.

The attendant watched the strange man go, her hand moving involuntarily to her neck. Her breath was coming in short gasps as she stood up shakily. She had to use the seats for support as she walked down the aisle. For some reason, she felt as if she was lucky to still be alive. Perhaps her mom was right. Maybe she needed to think about finding a new profession.

Philip stumbled down the platform, wincing in physical pain each time someone bumped against him. At one point he found himself reaching out for a young child that smelled particularly sweet, like candy. His teeth almost felt as if they were growing, stretching out for the flesh he so longed to eat. He came to his senses only as the girl's mother pulled her away with a frightened stare. Philip fell back, forcing himself away from them. What was wrong with him? He had never felt needs like this before. And these needs, they were so strange. Before his trip, he would have never found raw meat appealing, but now it had his stomach rolling with longing.

At one point, a man came up and put his hand on Philip's shoulder. He must have noticed his strange behavior.
"Hey buddy," he said lightly, "you okay?" Philip turned on him, grabbing the man's arms tight enough that the man winced in pain. When he met Philip's eyes, he began to shake.
"Hey, look man," he said, frightened, "never mind, okay? Let go of me." Philip ran his tongue over his cold dry lips. He could feel the man's blood pumping quickly under his skin. He could smell it, it's flow accelerated by his fear of Philip. It was at that point that he saw a familiar face in the crowd.

Trisana.

He threw the man aside, and stumbled toward's his girlfriend. Remembering most people's reaction to him, he attempted to calm himself down. He ignored the noise of the crowd and planes. He ignored the mouthwatering smells that drifted off of the people that passed him. All that mattered was Trisana. He stood up straighter, attempting to act normally. He didn't want to frighten her, too. He forced a smile onto his face as he approached her.
"Hey, baby. Miss me?"

Trisana was, contrary to what she thought she was going to be, completely shocked at her boyfriend. She watched his actions before he approached her, and they made her smile slowly transform into a tight line across her face as her eyebrows knit together to create a ‘v’. She watched in confusion and worry, wondering what could be wrong with him. He looked tired, pale, and sick. He seemed a lot worse than he was before she sent him to Paris; perhaps having him go was a bad idea after all. There were deep bags under his eyes, and he had a pained looked to him.

As he approached her, she could tell he was faking his attitude. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but there wasn’t much for him to tell; she already knew everything that was bothering him, and there was nothing she could do for him. Try as she might, she couldn’t cure this horrid depression which had enveloped her lover. All she wanted to do was make him happy, a smile, a real smile was what she wanted, one of content and happiness. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen any time soon; the look in his eyes told her that.

She smiled for his sake and wrapped her arms around his neck and stretch up on her tip toes, nuzzling her face in his neck. “Very much,” She said softly, a small smile tugging at her soft lips. When she felt his arms around her, she felt much better. But there was something different about him. She wasn’t sure what it was, but the way he held her felt odd. It wasn’t right to her, and it made her pull back and look at him, taking a better examination from him. She was right; He did look different to her, but she couldn’t put her finger on how. He was tired looking, yes. But that wasn’t it; he had looked exhausted for the past few months. His skin had gotten paler, if that was possible, but that couldn’t have been it, either.

She stared into his eyes and smiled a moment, and then she realized what was different. His eyes had a strange hue to them. She couldn’t figure out exactly what color, but they weren’t lighter or even darker. They were just a different color. “Are you wearing contacts?” She asked suddenly, her eyebrows knit together again as she stared at him. As she held onto his wrists, she could feel his hands ball into fists. It was starting to worry her, how much his condition worsened while he was gone. She wished she could dive into his mind, explore it, figure out what was bothering him. But she wasn’t even sure if he knew what was going on, except for that this depression, if that’s what it was, was slowly consuming him.

She took a step back, still holding his wrists, and smiled to lighten the mood. “I’m glad you’re home,” She said to him, reaching up to kiss him. She had missed him, and she was glad that he was home. She just wished that he was his old self again.

When she went to fling her arms around him, his whole body tensed. His eyes squeezed shut as he battled the urges that raged inside of him. If he had thought the stranger's were intoxicating, he was drowned by the desire that Trisana's scent created. It took him a few seconds to get himself under control. The fight was short, but it left him gasping and out of breath. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted his girlfriend right now. What frightened him was, that he didn't want her physically. Not that badly, at least. What he longed for was the rich warm life that flowed directly under her taunt skin.

He pushed her away slightly. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, so he pretended to be looking her over. He just couldn't stand to have her so close to him right now. It really was good to see her again. He sighed. How could they continue living like they had if he couldn't even hold her? He needed answers about what had happened to him, but he didn't know who to ask. Who would believe him, anyway?

He began to walk with her, holding her hand as gently as he could. His skin felt feverish to him, and he didn't realize that it would be cool to her. He frowned in confusion as she flinched slightly when their hands touched. It was his turn to shrink back as a ray from the setting sun filtered in through a window. He hissed slightly as it touched him, and stepped back into the shadows.
"Maybe we should find another door, sweetie," he said in what he hoped was a normal voice.

He jumped as a familiar mocking laugh began to ring in his head. He swung his eyes from side to side, searching for the cause.
Oh, you won't find me that way, dear, the voice said softly. I know better than to go out in the sunlight. After all, our kind doesn't get along well with the day. Have you figured it out yet, this great gift I've given you? she laughed again. Philip clenched his fists in frustration. Where was she?
"Gift?!" he screamed out at no one, "what have you done to me?" His outburst was only met with more laughter, and then silence. With a sense of fear and loathing, he looked around him. Embarrassment quickly took their places, though.

He turned to Trisana, who was also staring at him, worried. He looked at the ground, letting a little bit of hair fall into his face.
"Let's get home, okay babe?"

Trisana smiled as she reached down for Philip’s hand, but took in a sharp breath when she felt how cold it was. She looked down at their hands quickly and then back up, her eyes knit together once more as the burning image of their hands entwined stayed behind her eyelids. The contrast between his skin and hers was shocking. She was pale, and she knew that. But so was Philip, and there never was a point where he was paler than she was; not until now, anyways. It didn’t make sense, but soon she grew accustomed to the coolness of his skin against hers, and she turned to make conversation, but her mouth simply stayed open when he flinched at the light.

She twisted her head to the side and her eyes filled with more worry. “Maybe we should find another door, sweetie.” She stood still and studied him for a moment, concerned. There was something in his voice that was different, something that wasn’t right, but she ignored it and nodded, taking hold of his arm lightly to lead him in another direction. She stared ahead of them, trying not to overreact. But she couldn’t help it; Philip was in worse condition than when he left her, and she was more than worried now. She didn’t know what the word for it was, but she knew there was a word; whatever that word was, that’s what she felt.

Trisana jumped violently when Philip pulled away from her and started to furiously scream at nothing. She backed up and stared at him in horror, along with several other bystanders. Her eyes had gone wide, and her mouth was slightly open as she tried to process what was going on before she would do anything. Suddenly he stopped yelling, and she watched him as he looked around at the people around them before he turned to her and murmured that they should leave. Trisana took a shaky breath and nodded swiftly, making it a point to walk in front of him, afraid of any other outbursts. Her mind was running in all different directions, and she didn’t even know what to think anymore.

Her thoughts turned to schizophrenia, the condition that appears in early adulthood and progressively gets worse. She shook her head at the thought; she couldn’t lose the person she loved the most in that way. She couldn’t lose him at all. She was silently preparing herself for a battle to come, one where she would have to fight as if she were fighting for her own life to keep hold of Philip and the love that they shared. She took another deep breath as she rounded the corner to the main entrance of the airport and swiftly walked out, flagging down another taxi. When it stopped, she turned around and grabbed hold of Philips arm and led him inside the taxi, then sat herself next to him. She gave the taxi driver their address, and then turned to study Philip.

What was the most obvious to her was the color of his skin. He looked as if he hadn’t gone outside in months, or like he was sick and all the blood drained from his face. She was visibly shaken from what had happened inside of the airport, and she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of irritation alongside her worry for him.

“What happened to you?” She whispered in a horrified voice, her eyes watching him carefully.

Philip made sure that they were in the shadow of the building before he walked out. He didn't want to risk getting burned again. As they sat down in the cab, he began to think. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit together, but he didn't believe what he had come up with. After all, the thing he kept thinking of was impossible. But. . . he shook his head. The increased speed and strength, the painful sensitivity of his senses, the pain of the sunlight, and most of all, the undeniable longing for the blood that he could smell in the people all around him. As his mind raced to find a more reasonable explanation, he kept coming back to one word. Vampire. He rejected this idea. This sort of thing didn't happen - especially not to him. He had a wonderful life, with a loving girlfriend. He couldn't be. . . whatever it was that he was.

He couldn't ignore her question forever though. How could he answer her? If he told her his theory, what would she do? Would she laugh at him? Would she think he was crazy? Or, possibly worse, would she believe him? He couldn't imagine loosing her. But, a horrible thought crept into his mind. If his suspicion was right, if he was a - he couldn't even think the word - then how could he stay with her? Wouldn't he be putting her at risk just by being near her? He fought the tears that came to his eyes. Was he really destined to lose her? If he told her, she might leave. If he tried to live with her, she might die. How could he make this decision?

He laid his head down on her shoulder with a sigh. She was so warm, so alive. Her sweet scent filled his nostrils, causing him to nearly double up with the pain of longing. He ignored the pain though, ignored the need. Even if it was just for a little bit, he wanted to pretend that everything was alright. He wanted it to feel like it should. She was just his girlfriend, and he was just the man undeserving of her love. A small, sad smile played on his lips. He wanted to stay like this forever. Eventually though, he sighed. She was still waiting for an answer.

"I guess there was a bug going around Paris," he mumbled into her shirt. "I haven't been feeling well since I got on the plane." At least he could avoid lying to her. After all, there was nothing normal about the way he was feeling. The sweet yet sickening vixen voice rang in his head once again. You need to feed, my pet, it sang into his ear. Once she's dead, you can come to me. I'll teach you how to live. I'll show you the true meaning of love. Philip shut his eyes wishing that he could shut out the voice as easily as he could the light. You're wrong he thought ferociously. Go away. I don't need you, and I don't want you. He could feel the creature's shock echoing in his mind. She had obviously not expected rejection. But you will come to me, she insisted. Whether you kill her now, or wait until she has shriveled and died on her own. You will be alone, and you will seek me. With that, the voice was gone.

Her words left him shaking and sweating. He had never considered outliving Trisana, but now it seemed almost inevitable. He couldn't imagine a life without her. He took her hand in his desperately. At least he had a long time before he would have to worry about that. She was still young, and healty. He could smell it in her blood.
"I love you so much, Trisana," he whispered to her.