The metallic smell of blood wafted into the cold thoughts of the night walker as it flitted from shadow to shadow among the bustling crowds. Lights danced along the streets drawing the prey's attention from the cold and dark. They shivered in the chill wind, huddling close to each other. The predator ignored them, for it was solitary and neither had nor sought warmth, except for that of the eventual kill. And there would indeed be a kill this night, for the blood called out from the lonely dark and drew in the hunter.

It parted from the herds of oblivious cattle, following the intoxicating smell down a dank alleyway. The predator's eyes gleamed with a hungry light as it spotted a splatter of blood on the cobblestones. Silent as a creeping fog, it crept along the scent trail. Soon the hunted would weaken and collapse and be easy prey. It might reach the herds and have safety in numbers, or it could expire and lose all emotional flavor. The hunter did not concern itself with uncertainties. There was always more prey.

The drips of blood became splashes and splashes became a steady stream ending in a motionless body slumped in a pool of crimson. The predator straightened from its crouch with a snarl of displeasure. Even though the heart still thudded faintly, there couldn't be more than a few mouthfuls of blood left. So discourteous of it. The mildly irritated hunter resigned itself to a few sips before leaving thoroughly unsatisfied to find another, perhaps something a little stronger, so it could be played with before being dinner.

It leaned down over the body, fangs glistening in the dim light before burying themselves into the dying prey. The predator pressed up against the prey, which it distantly identified as male, clinging to him closer than a lover as it sucked hungrily at his neck. 

The sweet, sweet blood flowed from the wound and into its razor toothed maw, dimming the raging burn of thirst that drove the predator. All of a sudden it pulled away sharply as an inexplicable disorientation overcame it. The hunter reeled back to its feet, turning as if to leave, but stumbled unsteadily. One clawed hand reached out to rest on the brick of the alley wall. The night stalker shook its head in a futile attempt to clear and blinked in confusion. As it took a step forward, the alley stretched and spun. The hunter blinked and found itself lying helpless in the filth of the alley. Fog filled its thoughts and all reason and instinct vanished as it observed a piece of glass stuck deep in its forearm.

Fascinated, it raised the limb for closer inspection. Dark red droplets of its blood beaded around the puncture and made there way down the smooth surface of the shard of glass. Without sitting up, it slowly pulled out the bloody object while watching the blood drip out intently. A grin spread its face in an expression that was more suited for devouring helpless babies than expressing any kind of joy. The night walker slowly sat upright hands still under close inspection.

It turned one hand over slowly, watching the blood drips roll across its dead white skin in fascination. The world ceased to to exist; all that was left was red on white, life on death. Unknowingly, the vampire collapsed against the wall next to the dying boy. Gently, it raised the shard of glass to its arm and rested it there against its own cold skin before pressing the sharp edge into its arm. It did not feel the pain as it dragged the shard of glass over its arm in swirling motions, releasing more and more of the attention absorbing crimson.

Vaguely, the vampire registered the warm presence next to it and leaned over giddily. It thrust its arm into the boy's face. "Look at the blood! So fas...cin...ating..." The vampire prompting forgot the human's presence as it stared at the mesmerizing fall of drop after drop of wet redness. Its eyes began to feel heavy and it gave a wide jaw popping yawn that displayed every inch of its impressive  dentistry.

The vampire slid down to rest against the boy who was still, miraculously, breathing. Eyelids drooping, it idly began to drag its bloody finger tips across the boy's dreadful wounds. The bloods mixing held creature's interest for a little while, until it became simply too much effort to remain awake and it slipped into the light sleep of vampires during the night. Unknown to it, the blood flowing from its arm was slowly healing the dying boy's mortal wounds. 

Hours passed by as they both lay unconscious in the dirty alleyway. The boy's ragged breathing slowed as he healed and returned from the threshold of death. Color returned to his cheeks and the lines of pain in his face faded away. He stirred a little before falling into an exhausted sleep against the cold mass of the vampire.

The vampire, for its part, did not breathe nor move. It slept as the thing that it was: dead. It looked, to all the world, a dead body of a Greek man tragically felled by an early onset heart attack. Not that the world saw the two of them lying there, or would have cared had they done so. The city bustled on without them for no one knew they were gone. The chatter and clatter of the city continued throughout the night, only calming, but never abating as the night moved toward dawn.

As the night darkened in preparation for the approaching dawn, the vampire jerked awake, instinct screaming to hide and guard itself from the burning light. Head pounding and arm throbbing, the night walker staggered to its feet and set off in a stumbling run towards its underground sanctuary.

There was no time for secrecy, no time! Just dodging early risers and night shift workers, ignoring the curious looks and angry glares. Speed was paramount. The vampire could feel the sun inching above the horizon in front of it and put on a desperate burst of speed. It careened onto the right street at top speed and pelted towards the stairs leading down to its basement lair. The vampire threw itself down the stairs just before the golden light reached them.

Safe inside the life proof basement, it relaxed and collapsed into bed to sleep out the day.

Jared woke up with a sinking feeling of dread. The familiar itching need was back, a thousand tiny hands grasping at his insides and whispering incessantly into his inner ears. He groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and then hoisted himself out. His clothes hung off the back of the chair and he grabbed them as he passed by on his way to the washroom.

Pushing through some taller boys loitering in the hallway, he entered the the washroom. After a short shower, he stood in front of the mirror observing the dark circles that had formed under his eyes. He ran a hand through his brown hair and sighed: he looked like hell. His hair was disheveled and still oily despite the shower, his eyes were dark and sunken, and his clothes were full of holes and several sizes too big. Drying his wet bedraggled hair with a ratty towel, Jared stepped out of the washroom and returned to his room, actively avoiding the other kids on the way.

Back in the room he had been using for the night, he tossed the towel over the back of a chair and reached under the bed to retrieve his shoes. After pulling on his socks and shoes and putting on his baggy tatty coat, he gathered his belongings, mainly equipment for shooting herion, into a small backpack and headed downstairs.

Jared tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, but before he had made it even halfway to the door, he heard an angry voice call his name. "Jared!"

He turned guiltily to face a short blonde woman glaring at him with her jands on her hips. He smiled nervously, "What's up, Maria?"

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Maria sputtered angrily and then started yelling at the top of her lungs. "What's up? What's up! I will tell you what's up!" She shook a fist at Jared as he tried unsuccessfully to edge away from the maelstrom of her rage. "What's up is that I am pretty damn tired of you leaving here every couple of days with shaking hands-" Jared noticed that his hands were, indeed, shaking and he tried to stop them. "-and coming back that night totally high!" Maria fumed, "Well, I won't have it, starting tonight. If I see anyone on drugs than they are back on the street, even if it is before curfew. Is that understood?" Her demanding gaze swept around the room. "I said, is that understood?!" This time as her eyes observed the room, she saw lots of teenager heads nodding in nervous agreement. Jared flinched as her gaze snapped back to him. "Well?!" Jared stared at her blankly, his mouth hanging half open. She glared, "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Her voice was deathly calm.

Jared gulped and stammered, "I- I..." 

"Never mind!" Maria gestured sharply in negation. "I don't want to listen to your excuses for your behavior, just leave!" She turned and started to walk away, but stopped and looked back at him. "Just don't come crawling back here tonight off your head on heroin and expect to be let in!"

Jared let out a sigh of relief as Maria disappeared into the next room. He snuck furtive glances at the many teenagers staring at him openly, then shrugged his backpack higher up his shoulders and hurried out the door onto the busy streets of Seattle.

Once he was a couple blocks away and out of sight, Jared finally relaxed. Stopping for a moment at an intersection, he pulled out his worn looking wallet and checked inside. It was depressingly bare, but thankfully there was enough change for a cup of coffee before work.

Assured that he could afford a cup of joe, Jared turned down the street and headed for the nearest Starbucks café. It was only a short ways away, so he arrived within a few minutes.

Before he went inside, he quickly smoothed down his hair and straightened his clothes so as to look slightly less like a drug addled hobo. Even in the partial reflection of himself in the window, Jared could tell it did not do much. He shrugged to himself  and went inside. His suspicions were instantly confirmed as the people who saw him turned away with expressions of distaste or outright disgust. Jared ignored them and joined the line in front of the counter. The staff was unusually quick and the line melted away until he stood before the counter at the head of the line.

"Cappuccino, please." He said, laying the money down on the counter top. As soon as his cup arrived, he turned to leave, pretending not to see the woman at the counter picking up the coins with a napkin.

Disgust and avoidance were things he had long since become accustomed to since he had ended up on the streets. None of it really bothered him anymore, but it always reminded him how far removed he was from everyone else.

Ever more depressed by those thoughts, Jared trudged sullenly down the sidewalk, sipping his cappuccino in an attempt to stave of the jitters of his craving. He hoped that the caffeine would enable his to last through work and into the evening, but he held no illusions about the strength of his cravings for heroin. Still, couldn't hurt to try.

Finally, Jared arrived at McDonald's where he worked making fries. A couple more sips of his cappuccino, and he was done. He pitched the empty cup into a nearby garbage can and went inside.

Grabbing his uniform from the back room, he quickly changed and pulled a hair net over his oily locks. Once he was dressed, he went out into the food preparation area and took his place at the fry oil buckets.

Half an hour later he was busy helping out other people because no one wanted fries at seven in the morning. The rush calmed down an hour later and Jared and the rest of the workers relaxed and joked around. Then an older man with a big mustache and a toupee walked into McDonald's with a stern look and glare on his face.

Instantly everyone got back to work and tried to look very busy. The man, the owner, walked around in the main part of the fast food place and then through the food preparation are. He assessed everything with a critical eye and seemed to find everything, not bad exactly, but unsatisfactory when measured against his own personal standards.

Jared was always uneasy during the older man's inspections, but the had become routine after months of working there. The owner approached the fry oil station and examined it thoroughly, before turning to Jared and scouring him with his eyes. After what felt like a long time, but was probably only a few seconds, the man turned away with a grudging nod of approval. Even person and station was visually inspected before the old man took his leave. He reached the door and turned back for just a second.

"Keep up the appearances and customer service, boys!" Everyone gave a pained grimace and a half hearted wave before the owner left completely.

Letting out a collective sigh of relief, all the workers relaxed and went back to chatting away until the next group of customers appeared. Topics ranged from sports, to politics, to children and romantic others. Jared stayed out of the conversation having little interest or experience in any of the subjects of discussion. His aloofness, however, did not stop the others from constantly trying in involve him in their conversations.

Miraculously, he was saved from having to give his opinion on wedding flowers by the timely arrival of a large group of customers who all wanting large fries. Jared busied himself with cooking and serving them up and sincerely hoped that the topic would be forgotten. He got his wish as the lunch rush started right after the large group's departure. Every one was too busy to think, let alone talk and Jared most of all. He kept frying and scooping and serving, but the orders just kept coming. He made mountain and mountains of fries.

Nearly two hours later the steady stream of hungry customers had slowed to a trickle and the workers could pause and catch their breath. Quite a few people took the opportunity to go outside for a quick smoke break, but Jared wasn't one of them. Heroin, and heroin alone, was his vice. Sure he had experimented quite a bit, but heroin was the only drug that had ever really hooked him. Speaking of which, the craving had only grow stronger as time passed. It no longer tugged gently at his insides, now it was clawing inside of him, invading him mind and will with the desperate desire for a fix. With a conscious effort, he pushed the need to the back of his mind where he could maintain some semblance of control over it.

Once he had the craving under partial control, he refocused on the task at hand just in time to pull a basket of fries out of the oil before they burned. He cursed under breath as, in his haste to move the basket of fries, he had burned his fingers by brushing them against the hot metal.

Panting slightly to keep from hissing at pain, Jared hurried over to the sink to run his burned hand under the cold water pouring from the faucet. After the searing pain faded away, he dried off his hands and shook the burned one to make sure it was alright to work with again. He turned around to see everyone watching with some level of amusement. He colored, then glared as he realized that he had done so.

Quickly, he moved back to his station and tried to ignore the looks by engrossing himself in his tasks. It didn't really distract him, but gradually the others lost interest and looked away. Once he was certain that every one had gone back to their jobs, he stopped working and rubbed his hands down his face, then held them out in front of him.

Right away, he noticed that the were pale and noticeably shaking. Concentrating, Jared could get them to stop, but once he lapsed in any way it was back. He was a little worried by this physical manifestation of his addiction, a sign of how bad his drug of choice was messing him up. He lowered his hands and pushed the niggling feeling of concern, instead turning his thoughts towards the more pressing problem; affording today's heroin.

Sometimes, if he was lucky, the cravings came on pay day, but unfortunately today was not one of those days. His boss wouldn't give him an advance either, he'd tried it before, but the man would have none of it. Stealing was out too: he'd already been caught twice, a third arrest meant five years in juvie. He'd just have to go and somehow convince the dealer to take an IOU or double payment on the next dose.

The rest of Jared's shift passed slowly, each second crawling by at a snail's pace at the clawing desire continued to tear at his insides and his thoughts heated up into feverish frenzy. His fingers started twitching constantly and uncontrollably causing him to have a hard time frying French fries. Jared bit his tongue every so often to keep himself alert and focused on the task at hand.

Unexpectedly, Jared felt someone tap his shoulder and he jumped a foot in the air, his nerves long since shot to hell. He whirled around rapidly, making the girl take a step back hands raised to a calming gesture. He stared at her for a moment breathing hard. After one last deep breath to calm himself, he managed to ask, "What is it?"

Vaguely, he recalled seeing her a couple of times as he left work. She usually worked the evening shift, so he had no idea what she was doing at work, left alone why she was talking to him.

"What it is, is that I'm taking the rest of your shift today." Confused, Jared opened his mouth, but the girl cut him off. "Shut up. I need an excuse to get away from my ex boyfriend and by the looks of your hands, you really need to leave." Jared gaped at her. She glared and pushed him towards the exit. "Go." Jared gave her a grateful smile before quickly changing out of his uniform and rushing out the door.

Xander, his usual dealer, wouldn't be selling until later, but Jared couldn't wait any longer. He took off at a run for 4th avenue S where he knew some dealers did business. It took him quite a while to get there, so by the time he got there he was a quivering wreck. The need was overpowering. He looked around frantically for someone who was likely to have heroin.

Young drug addicts like him were everywhere. As Jared wandered about, he saw lots of different drugs being sold, but only one man seemed to be selling heroin. He wandered over and watched him haggle with an older man for a single dose. Jared pulled out his wallet and looked in, hoping that somehow he would have the money.

Zilch. There wasn't even a single dollar in his wallet, let alone the kind of money he needed to buy heroin. However, Jared needed the high too much to leave. As soon as he could, he stepped up to the strange drug dealer. "I need some heroin."

The man looked him up and down. "So you do. Got cash?"

Jared swallowed nervously, "No, I don't."

The drug dealer turned away uninterested, "Then stop wasting my time."

"Please! I need it bad!" Jared grabbed the man's arm, pleading with him. "Please! I'll do anything, just give me some heroin!" 

The dealer glanced back, interested. "Anything?" Jared nodded eagerly. "In that case, follow me." The man led the way down an alley and beckoned for Jared to follow. Once the were a couple blocks away, they stopped. 

The man turned to Jared and said, "Strip." 

Ashamed and frightened, but needing the high too much to refuse, Jared pulled off his tatty coat and slowly removed his shirt. The man growled "Too slow!" slamming him down on his back and ripping off his pants and underwear. Jared could only watch in horror and detached disbelief as the dealer undid his belt and the button of his pants. The man pulled the belt out and dangled it in front of him.

"What a little whore you are. Selling yourself for a few shots of herion? Disgusting." Abruptly he snapped the belt across Jared's inner thigh, who yelped in pain. "Filthy little slut, you deserve every bit of what is coming to you." The belt came down again across his other thigh. The dealer than reached up and tightly bound Jared's hands with the sturdy leather strap, ignoring his thrashing and yelling. 

"Shut up." The man leaned down and bit his lip savagely. Jared gasped and fell into a frightened silence. His fucker leered at his and twisted his nipples harshly. He inhaled sharply and his cheeks reddened in shame as his cock hardened slightly, not much, but the man noticed anyway. "Ah, look at the little faggot, going hard already. I bet you can't  wait to be fucked, can you?"

Jared frantically shook his head in denial. The man's grin disappeared and he slapped Jared hard across the face. " You know you want it." He twisted his nipples again causing Jared to gasp and harden more. "Let me hear you say it! Tell me that you are a filthy disgusting faggot who deserves to be fucked." When Jared did not respond, the man slapped him harder. "Say it!" He demanded.

Jared licked his lips, tasting blood, "I-I am a f-filthy disgusting f-faggot who des-erves to be f-fucked." The man grinned and began to lick his nipples while one hand reached down to play with and prepare  Jared's tight ass.

"Good boy. Now ask for it. Beg me to fuck you." He sucked on a finger before shoving it deep inside Jared's ass. Jared gasped and squirmed as his cock sprang upright. The finger curled inside him. "Beg."

Jared gulped and did as he was told. "Please, please fuck me." The finger raked his prostate as the man bit his nipple hard. "Please!"

The finger withdrew and the nipple was released. "Alright. I will fuck you. But remember, you are the faggot who asked for it. This was what you wanted, don't forget that."

The man pulled out his enormous cock and set it against Jared's tight hole. He could feel the immense size of it right before the man thrust it deep into him and he screamed. The drug dealer set a punishing pace, slamming in and out in big violent thrusts. Jared felt himself ripping apart under the abuse and tears began to leak from his eyes. Jared could feel something breaking inside of him and he started sobbing, begging the man to stop, promising him anything, anything, if he would just stop.

After what seemed like an eternity of hell, the thrusts became shorter and faster. Increasing in speed until the man slammed into him one last time and came deep inside of him. The man pulled out and calmly did up his pants and reclaimed the belt to fasten around his waist once more. The dealer pulled a bag of herion from his pocket and tossed it casually onto Jared's shaking form.

"I don't know why I'm even paying you. Usually the one who wants sex pays, but I'm feeling charitable today. You were an adequate lay, so consider it a token of appreciation." Without another glance, the man turned and walked away. 

After a while, Jared pulled himself up painfully. Finding the bag, he took a shot of herion and then pulled on his clothes, feeling more dirty than ever. 

He started walking, every step a huge effort that sent pain shooting through his lower back. He leaned on the alley wall, using its support to keep moving forward. Blood ran down his legs and soaked his shoes, so that he began to leave a trail of bloody footprints. He found himself wishing that the drug would kick in soon, so that the high would distract him from the agony.

When the drug did kick in, however, he could tell it wasn't right. It didn't feel right. The high should have been warm, soft, and comfortable, instead he seemed to be seeing the world in a distorted and intriguing way. The cracks in the brick wall caught his eye, and he followed the spiderweb of interconnected cracks down the alley. A moth fluttered by and he stumbled after it, fascinated.

When the moth flew into the flame, Jared pouted in dismay, but brightened instantly when he heard the sound of footsteps ringing on the stones. The sound shimmered in the air, drawing him towards it like the moth had been drawn to the flame.

He stumbled around a corner that warped and shifted as he passed and right into the owners of the shimmering footsteps. 

The lead biker, outfitted in black leather, looked down in annoyance at the druggie who had walked into him. Jared stumbled backwards arms windmilling to keep from falling. He laughed wildly. The whole thing seemed hilarious, so he kept laughing, oblivious to the murderous expressions on all of the bikers' faces.

"You think that's funny, do you?" Growled one of the bikers. "See if you think this is funny." He grabbed Jared and punched him in the stomach with a spiked glove. Jared just kept cackling, not even registering the blow.

Pissed off, the whole biker gang surrounded him cracking their knuckles ominously. When he didn't take heed of their warning, they all fell on him and began beating him to a pulp. Their spikes ripped through his flesh, leaving gaping tears the poured blood onto the street.

The biker gang only stopped when Jared began to cough up blood. As one they straightened and walked away, leaving Jared to slip down the wall and collapse in a pool of his own blood. 

Giggling shallowly through the blood in his throat, Jared saw darkness creeping in from the edge of his sight. The drug continued to twist inside him and fog his mind, so when the darkness beckoned he succumbed to it without protest or struggle.

He floated in unconsciousness for what seemed like only a few seconds before he was woken by a sudden weight and a sharp pain stabbing into his neck. His eyes opened a small crack and he gazed out, both mind and vision fuzzy. 

He could see an indistinguishable dark mass right in front of his face, but was too exhausted to make any effort to focus. In fact, he seemed to have no strength at all. Drained of all energy to the point where he physically could not move a muscle, he dimly recognized that the strange weight was gone.

With this absence, he fell back into the darkness preceding death. Time slipped by without meaning in the blackness. There was a white light in the distance. Or maybe there wasn't. It was so hard to tell without coming closer, but Jared was not in control. The light remained illusive and then disappeared, if it had ever been there in the first place.

He woke up again feeling stronger and rolled over to snuggle against someone as cold as the alley stones, but somehow comforting and safe. Feeling protected and strong again, Jared feel into a true sleep for the first time that night and dreamed of ice cold angels with healing hands and burning eyes. He dreamt one had descended from heaven and healed him.

He jerked awake at dawn when something scrambled roughly over him and raced away down the alley. He turned and saw a nice looking black haired man running away from him. Jared started to push himself up, wanting to follow the angel from his dream, but then he saw the pool of blood beneath him and all other thoughts flew from his mind as he yelped and fell backwards in shock.

Remembering pain, he pawed at himself franticly trying to find the grievous wounds he vaguely recalled receiving. Finding none, he was deeply relieved, but also very confused.

Jared tried to remember, but it was too blurry after falling down bleeding. With a scared flinch and wide eyes the other painful memory arose. Cautiously, waiting for tearing agony in his lower back, he slowly stood up. No such pain surfaced, and Jared cried in relief. 

Once he had recovered his cool, Jared looked down at the pool of blood again. A thought occurred to him and he looked down at his clothes, which were soaked in blood. Since he had been healed somehow, there was no evidence that he was the victim. 

He thought about it for moment, then turned and ran away.