Hey, fortuneteller513 here! I'm writing a story from a different point of view of one of my most favorite books ever. Got fangs? By Katie Maxwell. Loved it. Anyone who hasn't read it is crazy because it's awesome!

Most importantly I do not own the characters or the story. I will be using some of the dialogue to make the story close to the original, but it's not mine. Ben's thoughts and views on the story are mine however.

Benedikt's point of view!! Hope I write it well! Tell me what you think!! Reveiw, Review!!

Chapter one

Wind rushed against my face, forcing my hair to billow out behind me like the tail of a kite. My motorcycle purred ferociously as it sped down the open road into the opaque distance ahead. Gripping the bike tightly between my thighs, I revved the engine, speeding faster down the highway.

I've been searching so long, so hard. I've been everywhere, anywhere, she might be, but nowhere have I found her. The key to my locked heart, the light of my existence that will eclipse the evernight, the half of my soul that has been absent for far too long.

"My Beloved." The wind carries my whisper into the night as soon as it flows from my mouth. Time seems to slow down, the air no longer forcing, but caressing as it runs through my hair. My senses suddenly heighten, my breath slowing evenly. An airplane above my head slowed to a craw across the stars like a toddler. My ears strain to hear her unknown voice; my eyes scanned the forest desperately for a glimpse of her anonymous face. I felt my hands tighten their grip over the bike's handle bars.

Nothing.

My concentration plummeted with my heart, withdrawing into a soft cocoon of sorrow and loneliness. Imogen had taught me that exercise to help my search for her, using extrasensory abilities. My gossamer, blonde haired older sister was currently traveling Europe with a fair-full of people with supernatural powers. The Goth Faire.

I sighed, dejectedly. Every time I became discouraged on my search, I'd talk to Imogen for a pick-me-up. She'd tell me of new ideas of where 'she' might be. We usually discuss for hours, and then she'd fall asleep while I stayed up thinking, unable to sleep. However, we're running out of ideas. Maybe…no. She does exist. I know it.

"I know it." I prayed silently. The pain of being incomplete ripped through my chest.

Trying to push it away, my hands twitched on the bars and I revved the engine. The dark booming shadow of the city stretched to the moon in front of me, lights sprinkled over the houses and work buildings.

My body suddenly heated, warmth soothing my wintry veins while gentle pulsing fire curled in my stomach. I sucked in air, shocked. My earlier sadness, my sorrow, had been wiped clean away, as if it had never been there. I feel like laughing. I feel…happy?

The bike slowed to a stop by the road. I sat there, dumbfounded, still reveling in the sudden feeling. Slowly my hand trailed toward my cell phone, but I didn't pull it out. I let the bike sit there for a moment until my brain had reconnected to my body again. Then, pulling the motorbike back onto the highway, I drive through the Hungarian city.

Imogen would know what that was. I could count on her to have an explanation or at least a logical guess. I sure as hell didn't know. All I know is I hope it happens again. I could count the number of times I had felt pleasure like that on one hand. Those feelings were so different from the ones I'd been harboring not five minutes ago. Somehow I had been given…hope, maybe. But hope for what, I just don't…no way.

My head whipped around, looking at the city. I could feel the adrenaline start to pump, my bike speeding faster ahead with mute velocity. I began to whisper, "She's here." To myself when the feelings hit me again. Sweet searing heat now thrived through my veins.

Seeing an opening in an alleyway, I jerked the bike through it, slowing down slightly at all the rubble. The feeling intensified with each passing second. I could see the end of the road…when a person stepped into my path.

Time seemed to slow again as my senses climaxed into an over awareness. It was a girl. She was walking to the other side of the opening carrying a heavy looking cable in her arms. Her head tilted to the side, eyes now looking at my oncoming bike. And she was beautiful.

Her short, midnight black hair illuminated her porcelain skin like the full moon on a clear night. Her violet eyes shown with an amused innocent glow and were framed by long dark eyelashes. Her soft pink lips were formed in an adorable pout and looked exceedingly enticing. She had slim shoulders, but was tall and statuesque with curves in the most perfect places.

The very sight of her sent my heart into over drive. I'd finally found my Beloved. I finally found her…and I'm about to run over her. Shit.

I turned the bike in mid air, sending my body off the bike and straight at her. My body met hers and I swear it was like being in heaven. Shaking these thoughts, my body turned in the air to shield her's from harm. We slid together a few feet until we finally came to a stop.

I stayed as still as possible, taking in her scent. She smelled of warm vanilla with brown sugar. My arms had unconsciously wrapped around her back and waist. Her dark, silky straight hair touched my neck when I drew a breath and my chest expanded.

Carefully, I leaned forward, bringing her limp form up with me. Her eyes were closed and were casting shadows where her eyelashes touched her cheek. One of my hands gently tucked her head under my chin while the other cautiously moved behind her knees. Then I lowered her to the ground on her back, my face happily close to hers, centimeters away.

The chances of a Dark One finding there Beloved were so slim, so unlikely. Some spend forever searching only to realize that their Beloved was already married or dead. Many Dark Ones go crazy out of despair and rampage through towns killing innocents and sucking them dry. That's pretty much how we developed our other name. Vampire.

Hesitantly, I entered her mind, seeking reassurance that I hadn't indeed killed her.

"Narg." She said softly. Her voice was like sweet music to my ears however strange the word was. It was smooth, husky, and had a hint of laughter folded mysteriously in the way she curled her tongue around her words.

Are you injured? Does anything hurt? I asked her, concern and worry for her knotting my throat.

"Gark." She rasped, a little stronger than before. I carefully stepped into her mind further so as to hear her thoughts. She was wondering why she was saying words she had never said before to the strange, sorrowful blackness. I guess that was me.

Gark. I'm not familiar with that word. Is it something new?

"Mmrfm" she murmured, almost sounding drowsy. I could read her thoughts more clearly now. Yep, that was me speaking. I recognize the "Mmrfm". I said that every morning when the clock radio went off. I'm a heavy sleeper. I hate being woken up. She pondered.

Making a mental note about her sleeping habits, I spoke to her again. You don't look injured. Did you strike your head?

She suddenly remembered what happened. The motorcycle! I had been run over. I was probably dead. Or dying. Or delirious.

You stepped directly into my path. I had no time to avoid you. You should really learn to look before you walk out from behind trucks. I replied.

You shouldn't have been driving so freakin' fast, she thought back.

Her voice was probably a lot like what the sun would feel like on my mind, without the burning pain. It softly cuddled the fire in my heart and glowed with an everlasting shine, casting light on the shadows in my memories and caressing my in the now.

I smiled into her mind, happy. My hands stroked her arms delicately, checking for unknown injury. My fingers curled around her palm when I heard her mind shriek.

I could see memories, my memories, flowing through her mind. My service in the Revolutionary War, the World War 1, and Darla, the giant wigged, big breasted French woman who had tried to seduce my a few decades back.

Her hand jerked away from mine the minute her eyes opened. Our eyes met and my heart jumped in my throat.

She was even more adorable up close. She was wearing a dark purple cotton shirt over a pair of faded black jeans, her black and white tennis shoes peeking out from underneath the bottom. Her hand came up and vaguely ran through her hair, gingerly feeling her head for pain. Her eyes never left me, but they did give me a once over. I'm not one to brag, but I'm good looking. Damn good looking.

"Some days I just can't win." She said, sitting up.

"Some days I don't even try." I replied smoothly. My brain was currently fighting with my body into not doing a victory dance. Her beautiful voice didn't have an accent, really, possibly American. I couldn't wait to tell Imogen.

"You are unhurt." I said, offering my hand as I stood.

"Was that a question or a comment?" she asked, ignoring my hand and getting to her feet.

"Both." I answered, beginning to flick off the grass on her back.

"Oh, lucky me, I got to be run over by a comedian." She growled. I resisted chuckling, it was so cute. "Hey! Hands to yourself, buster!"