As the streetlights slipped over the windows in white streaks, Zoë slipped into the recesses of her memory.

The fact of the matter was, she was lucky to be alive. Years ago she had been Marcus' prey. It had been a normal night. She had gone to a club, danced all night, and then had begun to walk home, orange platform shoes in hand.

The club had a side exit, usually used by the owners to move equipment to and from. Zoë had made friends with the bouncer, and was allowed to leave out the door that led out into the alleyway. That night, her friend had warned her to be careful; in hindsight she almost wondered if he somehow had sensed Marcus lurking in the shadows.

Instead she had laughed her bouncer friend off and continued down the dark alley. Once the door was shut, and the frenetic thumping of the music within was muffled, a chill had caused her hairs to stand on end. She had felt like she was being watched, yet a glance over her shoulder told her she wasn't. Zoë had barely made it halfway down the alley when she felt sure someone was watching her; when she turned around that time, a tall man was standing beside a dumpster.

Feeling uneasy, Zoë began to walk faster. When she looked over her shoulder once more, and found the man to be startling closer than he had been a moment before, she had broken into a run. Against logic, the man was suddenly in front of her. He had grabbed her, and she had screamed.

Two things came to her mind before she had passed out. One was the man's grip felt odd, almost like rigid stone had wrapped around her arms. Second, and the thing that had startled her into a faint, were the young man's eyes. They weren't human, and in the brief moment she saw them, she couldn't figure out exactly what was wrong with them.

Zoë had, luckily, awoken some time later. Marcus introduced himself, and explained to her that he was a vampire. At first she thought he was insane; she assumed him to be a serial killer that thought he was an actual vampire. However, as time went on, she slowly began to understand he really was an actual vampire.

Marcus had brought her to one of his hide-outs. He had found old tunnels beneath Chicago, left over from mining days of old when the city was in its infancy. Marcus admitted to her he was living beneath Chicago in hiding. From what, exactly, she wasn't sure and he didn't say. All she knew was that he was once a very powerful and influential vampire, their king, but all that had changed and he came to Chicago in the 1960's.

Zoë had many questions. First and foremost was, why had he spared her life? It was simple; she had fainted.

"No one has ever fainted in my arms before," he had explained to her calmly. "Usually they struggle, scream, flail, fight back. You? You just...crumpled like a wilted flower in my arms. I felt guilty."

Zoë wasn't sure which was harder to believe, that vampires were real or that they could feel remorse. (When she said as much, Marc had actually been highly offended.) After some more brief conversation, Marcus had released her under the condition that she keep quiet about him.

"If you don't," he had told her simply, "I'll find you, and I'll be lacking remorse this time."

Zoë wasn't stupid; even though a small part of her still assumed Marcus was a delusional human, she didn't tell anyone about him. Marc would show up at random at her apartment. A slow friendship had bloomed from Marcus' check-ins. Her doubts about him being a vampire were quickly dismissed the closer they became and the more time they spent together.

Zoë thought about how he was able to control people's minds. Countless times they had gone to a late night showing of a movie, or to a restaurant. People always had the same reaction to him; a glazed look would overcome them, and when he told them to do something, they would briefly look confused, but end up doing anything and everything he asked (or flat out told them to).

"I don't like doing it," Marc had admitted to her one day when Zoë wanted to go to a 24-7 diner. Marcus had instructed the waitress to not come over unless he signaled her. The waitress had paused, seeming to have an internal struggle, but then smiled and repeated, "I won't come over unless you signal me, not even for a coffee warm up."

"Why don't you like doing it?" Zoë had asked.

Marcus had looked away, steepling his hands. "It's just too easy. It's an invasion of privacy."

His hands were yet another reason Zoë had believed him about his status as the undead. They weren't normal. The fingers were elongated, skinny and bony, with prominent knuckles. The nails themselves were strangely translucent, slightly longer, shaped like claws. Once he had cut them in front of her to prove that he wasn't human; sure enough, they had regenerated moments after he had clipped them.

It was also during that meal that Zoë had found out some of the more physical attributes to vampires.

"You're eating?" she had asked as he shoveled pancakes into his mouth.

"I'm technically still alive–barely, but I am," he had explained to her. "All my systems work, they're just in a hibernating state. So, while vampires don't need to eat, we do it occasionally. The only downside is it takes forever for our bodies to actually digest food, and if we're not careful we'll have a nasty stomach ache for days."

Zoë had looked at his coffee. "And drinks?"

Marcus had chuckled then. "Drinks are different. Our bodies actually hyper-metabolize liquids; it's part of why we live off of blood. We drain all the nutrients from it, and it's absorbed into our body nearly instantaneously.

"So, that means," Marcus had said, lifting his mug to her before taking a sip of coffee, "I am extremely sensitive to caffeine. I also get drunk very quickly."

Zoë laughed. "Drunk? Vampires can get drunk?"

"Of course!" Marcus had admonished, but ended up laughing himself. "But since our metabolisms are so high, it also means we don't stay drunk for nearly as long."

"Can you get alcohol poisoning?" Zoë asked, intrigued.

Marcus frowned into his mug, raising a pierced eyebrow. "No. Trust me, I've tried. The more we drink the more inebriated we become, for longer."

"Huh."

Marcus took another bite, waving his fork. "I'm sure it has to do something with whatever magic or whatever it is that keeps us going. It filters out things that would kill humans. For example–wanna know something wild?"

Zoë had smirked, eating some eggs. "Of course."

"You know about diabetes, right?"

Zoë paused. "Sort of."

"Well, humans need their blood sugar to be in a specific range–too high or too low and their life is in danger. Out of curiosity, I once bought a glucose meter and tested my blood–I've held onto it, and test from time to time. It's consistently in the six-hundred range."

Zoë had laughed. "That means nothing to me, Marc."

"Blood sugar for humans is supposed to be less than one-forty, with normal being between seventy and ninety."

Zoë's eyes had widened.

"Most people enter a diabetic coma at six hundred."

Her mouth had dropped open.

"I think this is, in part, anyway, part of what makes us alluring to human's, which makes us hunting them easier."

"Huh?"

"Here, let me show you." Marcus had paused to swish some water around his mouth. Once he swallowed, he leaned across the table and breathed over Zoë's face. Not knowing what to expect at first, she winced. But then she took a hesitant sniff.

"It's...sweet. Your breath is sweet."

"Smells nice, doesn't it?"

Zoë didn't say anything.

Marcus had sighed then and leaned back in his seat. "Whatever made us, if anything did, seems to have given us certain things to make us more...agreeable, to humans. The sweet breath–the fact that we can control their minds to an extent."

"How do you control people?"

Marcus had laughed. "You've watched Star Wars?"

"Er, yes."

"It's a bit like Jedi Mind Tricks," Marcus explained with a smirk. "Only I don't have to wave my hand."

It was then that Marc had looked away, and Zoë caught an expression of sadness pass over him. "We can make people think we don't look weird. We can make them not notice our eyes, our hands. We can make them not comprehend certain things, like how pale we are or how cold our hands are."

Not knowing exactly why even, Zoë gave a trailed apology. "I'm sorry."

Marcus had looked at her then and smiled behind his sad, emerald eyes. "Don't be–you didn't do this to me."

It was another time when Marcus had let her close enough to feel his pulse that was non-existent. She had tentatively put her ear right against his chest, waiting for a heartbeat, waiting for his chest to rise and fall with breath. Those things never happened.

The final memory that cavorted across her mind was yet another reason why she was lucky to be living. This had happened more recently, their friendship well-established. She had the day off from work, and she had talked him into hanging out and watching movies. He had insisted on his apartment.

"I'm exhausted," Marcus said finally at around two PM. "I'm going to go to sleep."

Zoë had been confused for a moment. "Oh. Vampire. Right."

"Feel free to stay if you'd like. I just have one request." Marcus shook his head then and narrowed his eyes. "Actually it's not a request."

Intrigued by his sudden shift in demeanor, Zoë looked at him seriously. "Okay."

"Under no circumstances are you to go into my room."

"Okay."

He had narrowed his eyes further, looking almost angry. "I'm serious," he snapped. "Do not go into my room for any reason."

"Okay, okay, got it," she replied, holding up her hands.

"Promise me."

"Okay, jeez Marc, I promise."

Hours passed, and she lost interest in TV. Biting her bottom lip, she looked at the shut bedroom door. She considered going home; she even took up the remote again, looking back to the TV.

She knew she shouldn't, but curiosity got the best of her. As though her feet had a mind of their own they propelled her to the bedroom door. Every time Zoë had come over to the vampire's apartment, the door to his room had always been shut, a fact she hadn't really thought about until right then. Taking a deep breath, Zoë opened it—

And immediately regretted her decision. Heavy black curtains blocked out the light, and Zoë could barely see. The strong smell of garlic assaulted her nose, the entire room strung with the stuff. Covering every available space on the walls were crosses and crucifixes. She looked down; the entire room had a thin line of what she could only assume was salt around its perimeter.

In the middle of the room was a large bed, much like the one that had been in the mining tunnel. Laying on top of it was Marcus, face down. Zoë began to quiver when she noticed that the mirrored closet doors only showed an empty bed with her standing in the doorway.

His shirt was off. Zoë gawked at him when a moan escaped his lips. It wasn't even a moan. She knew the sound immediately, hearing it only once before when her grandmother died.

It was a death rattle.

To her horror, Marcus slowly propped himself up on his forearms. She noticed his neck and bare chest were an angry red, almost blistering, wherever the necklaces touched it. Her eyes ripped away from his naked torso and peered back into his face. His eyes were barely open—he truly looked like a reanimated corpse.

Zoë took a step back when he slowly pointed at her.

"Leave..."

It was said in the same death rattle, his voice cracking. Zoë's hands flew over her mouth.

"R...u..n..."

Zoë didn't have to be told twice, slamming the bedroom door.

That night, she had gone back to his apartment. Marcus trusted her enough to give her a key to his apartment. As such, she had slipped in, happy when the bedroom door was still shut.

When Ginger jumped into her lap, purring, she was startled momentarily. What sort of vampire kept a pet cat? Her eyes had glanced down to the magazines neatly stacked beneath the table; what sort of vampire was subscribed to Better Homes And Gardens?

Feeling nervous, Zoë stood and began to walk around. Around the corner from the bathroom was a room she hadn't seen before. It was a simple bedroom, filled with books, DVD's, and a few Blu-rays. Zoë also found, to her slight amusement, a record player, a cassette tape player, and even an 8 track player (though she didn't actually know what that was).

When she returned to her movie, she felt sick. On screen Renfield, Dracula's faithful servant, was laughing in his disturbing, psychotic manner. Was she Renfield? Periodically throughout the day, Zoë had checked herself over for bite marks. Thankfully she found none. That fact alone didn't quell her fears though.

If he hadn't put some sort of supernatural spell on her, what was she doing back here? After everything she had been through, after everything she had seen. She had tried to come to some sort of logical conclusion.

Nervously she looked at the closed bedroom door, shuddering at the horror that was just behind it. She would never forget that room. She would never forget how Marcus has looked, half-clothed, half dead. And what was with his chest? And what was with his room—

Zoë snapped her head back to the movie when the bedroom door opened. She stared pointedly at the TV, Marc walking to her with purposely heavy footsteps.

"Hey," he greeted from off to the side.

Zoë refused to look at him. Mina was currently on screen, talking to her newly reunited fiancee. Seriously, why had Zoë come back here? Lucy in the movie had just been turned into a vampire and died--wasn't that foreboding enough?

"Hi," Marcus tried again.

It was curiosity that made her come back. It was curiosity and a strong sense of...what? Need? She needed everything explained. She needed to know more about Marcus and the predicament she had found herself in...but even that explanation didn't seem right to herself.

Marcus came around, standing to the right of her. Her pale eyes glanced at him. She was slightly surprised at his appearance. He wore black dress slacks and a white button down shirt. His feet were covered in black dress shoes with a high polished sheen. He had tied his hair back, and she noticed his ears were red and angry, the earrings nowhere to be found.

As he buttoned his sleeve she looked away, feeling herself flush a little. If she were being honest, he was a rather attractive young man.

"You're still here," he told her, as if she didn't know. Furtively Zoë looked up once again.

When Marcus narrowed his eyes she quickly looked away, blushing. He was scrutinizing her. She stole another glance. The look he was giving her was unsettling. His expression had turned serious. When he spoke, he sounded uncertain.

"You're acting weird."

Even though Zoë was looking at the screen, all she could think about were his red, irritated earlobes. Which in turn led her to think about his bare chest that seemed to burn where his necklaces touched him. Which finally made her understand why she had come back in the first place.

She was worried about him. Worried! It was preposterous. Even though she knew now why she had returned, it didn't change the fact his room had scared the living daylights out of her.

Knowing what he was, truly believing what he was...She knew that room had hurt him. She knew the silver he wore around his neck and in his ears hurt him, the barbell piercing in his right eyebrow hurt him. She knew he was inflicting constant, neverending pain on himself.

It wasn't healthy. It wasn't healthy for anyone to behave like that, vampire or not. So she sat with that realization, fighting off the urge to cry. Zoë was confoundedly worried over the literal monster that originally was going to eat her. Worried over the vampire who had kidnapped her initially.

Worried about the vampire that couldn't have been any more than seventeen, an age too young for anyone to die. The same one who had scooped her up into his arms, carried her at a run across Union Station the night she had fainted in his arms because she had dropped her shoes in the alley and her feet were cut up and bloody from the walk to the train station. She remembered fondly that night, her shrieking for him to put her down, him telling her no, both their shrieks and laughter echoing off the beauty walls of the train station while everyone looked on in confusion. He bought her shoes; gave an old man whose daughter was dying of cancer money. The same vampire who had trusted her enough not to flee when she used the bathroom before they got on a train.

Maybe it wasn't so weird after all that she had come back. He had shown her little more than kindness. Zoë blinked back tears.

"And you're watching Dracula..."

Marcus came around the table, standing directly in front of her. She gaped at him, her mouth a small 'o'. He wasn't super tall, but he also wasn't exactly short. Zoë had always been bad at guessing heights, but he must've been around six feet. Point was, she had to crane her neck up to look at him.

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"Nothing's wrong, Marc."

Marcus put both hands on the glass table and leaned over her. She swallowed, eyes wide.

"Don't lie to me." He was full on glaring now. "Your pulse increased the second I opened my door. Your body temperature elevated by half a degree. Your heart is pounding erratically--I can smell the adrenaline in you."

Zoë was genuinely surprised. "You can?"

"Don't change the subject," he snapped. Then he spoke again in his calm, collected manner. "I am only going to ask this once more—what's wrong?"

"I went into your room," Zoë blurted out.

"You did WHAT?"

Zoë burst into tears, jumping to her feet. She wrung her hands, stuttering out the first letter of her sentence. "I'm sorry--"

Marcus was clutching each side of his head.

"It was stupid of me, really stupid of me--"

Marcus came around the table, taking her by both shoulders. As she looked into his green eyes, he looked panicked.

"I shouldn't have done that, I should've listened to you Marc. I'm sorry, I am so unbelievably sorry--"

Zoë slammed her mouth shut at the realization that Marcus was holding back tears. Gently he moved her hair off her shoulder, checking her neck, and then her shoulders. He took her wrists and looked them over, checking both sides, and then studied her hands.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Marcus had asked in a trembling voice.

The stricken look etched in his face made Zoë simply cry harder.

"What was with your room Marcus?"

His entire body stiffened. He still held her hands within his own. The green orbs turned icy, his pale lips forming a line.

"What the fuck is with your room, Marcus?" she demanded. "What was with the garlic, and the crosses, and—and what the fuck was all over the baseboards? And what's with—"

"I'm not that!"

He was suddenly screaming. Zoë jumped. He let go of her hands, pointing at the TV. When tears spilled out of his eyes, it made Zoë outright sob.

"I'm not some romantic thing to be swooned over! I'm not some—some—person—that deserves the sympathy you're looking at me with right now! My skin doesn't—doesn't fucking—sparkle in the sun, or some shit!"

Marcus grabbed her hand, pressing it to his wet cheek. The cheek that was unnaturally smooth, like marble. He looked at her dead in the eyes as he spoke, fresh tears spilling from his freakish eyes.

"My skin burns in the sun, Zoë. I kill people and drink their blood."

"You didn't kill me!"

"Well I should have!" he screamed again.

"There's good in you—"

He laughed bitterly, looking to the side and wiping away his tears.

Zoë clasped his inhuman hands. "There's good in you, Marcus LaBelle. You could've killed me that day when we first met, but you didn't—"

"Just because I didn't know what to do," he replied softly, still not looking at her. "In all the three hundred damn years I've been doing this, I've never had anyone faint on me. They struggle—they always fight..."

Zoë shook her head. "You didn't have to give that man over two hundred dollars in Union, the one with the dying daughter. You bought me shoes and ointment—you trusted me not to run away."

Marcus opened his mouth to say something but then shut it. Surprisingly, he flushed brightly. He looked like he wanted to say something. When he didn't, Zoë continued.

"You gave me your debit card that day when we came back here in case I needed something while you slept—I could have left the country. But I didn't."

"You should've."

The harsh statement was like a slap in the face. Marcus looked at her in anger. He shoved his face into hers, pointing his elongated finger at his bedroom. "What did you see of me in there?"

The thought made her shudder. "Marcus—"

"What did you see?" he screamed.

Zoë couldn't answer.

"Did I frighten you?" the vampire asked gently.

Zoë sniffed, and then nodded.

"Good."

For a moment he narrowed his eyes. Then he picked up the black sport jacket he had slung over the couch.

"Never wake a sleeping vampire. Not your fault—I was stupid, I should've locked the door. We enter a defensive state. We attack unconsciously, a bid to save our bodies. I'm shocked I didn't rip you limb from limb."

Marcus walked to the door. He paused, hand on the doorknob. Barely looking over his shoulder, he spoke.

"I have to go eat. Don't be here when I get back."

Quietly Marcus shut the door. Zoë sank back onto the couch and sobbed.