Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not claim rights to any of the characters and am not making any money. Alas.

Control

He stared into her brown eyes and something other than her fear made him smile slowly. He grasped her delicate face with his left hand, leaned into the warm line of her neck and, for the first moment of his undead life, he felt lost. Lost in a place, sweet and unfamiliar, with no purpose left in his mind or movements and he wished, without shame or inhibition, that it would go on forever. And as her scent swirled, almost insidiously, around him, he fell into an aching, erotic high that raked lines of pleasure-pain down his body.

A soft whimper broke the paralyzing haze and he pulled his head back forcefully, expecting the action to be harder than it was. His hand stayed, traveling down the length of her neck and reveling in her breakable skin and the stutter of her pulse, beautiful human imperfections. He saw her arm shift subtly and, for a fraction of a slow, fantastical moment, he pictured her raising her hand tentatively against his cheek, fear replaced by something else entirely. Then, all he could see were his own tears as pepper spray stung his eyes relentlessly and he lurched back, growling low and deep in pain and unadulterated disgust.

She ran even though they both knew he would be faster. He struck hard and ruthlessly, trying to compensate for his transgression. As she fell back, he closed his eyes to the satisfying sound of bones, cracking, shattering, and simply stood there for a moment, clenching his fists and repairing his weakness inch by inch. She was something special, he let himself think for the last time. If he were Edward, he would fight for her.