By Moonlight

With the girls, there were generally two types.

Either you had the weeping homely Goth chicks who forever bemoaned their existence and wanted an end to whatever their piddling misery was (You think you know misery? I am misery), or the stunningly beautiful femme fatales with their lips redder than bloodlust and weren't afraid of dying for the sake of a good time.

None of them mattered to Pete. His desire, among other things, had been drained a long time ago.

Ryan was different from the girls, for more than the obvious reasons.

It was easy to just write him off as a typical vampire groupie at first- what normal kid his age wanted to spend his sleeping hours with a creature of the night?

Surely the way they met would've been cause for suspicion. Ryan was huddled by himself in an alleyway with an arm severely banged up. Pete's bloodlust was under control by then, but old habits died hard, so to speak. He could smell everything.

The kid had good senses too; he knew what was approaching and huddled deeper into a ball, good arm held out for protection. "Please, it was an accident," he begged. "Get away!"

Pete shook his head and stopped in his tracks, not on command but out of common sense. What desire did he have to turn anyone? "I'm not gonna hurt you, kid," he said, more than a little gruffly. "You better head on home."

The kid looked up with wide, disbelieving eyes, and Pete could see a freshly bleeding scratch on one cheek.

"Aren't you-?"

"It's a long story." Pete held out a hand. "Do you want help or not?"

The kid swallowed and stretched out his free hand (the first feature Pete really noticed, his incredibly long fingers), then was slowly pulled to his feet.

He was young, tall and gangly, with dark hair and features one would call delicate, if they knew the kid wasn't gonna sock 'em. Even with his injuries, he looked the type who could fend for himself- most of the time.

Pete registered all this in an instant, then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "Do you need help getting home...?"

"Ryan," the kid said in a husky voice, then winced at his arm.

He couldn't leave Ryan out here, not when his sensitive ears were already picking up screams in the distance. Pete whipped off his jacket (exposing his grandfather's medals and the stake-proof vest Patrick had fashioned underneath) and flung it around the kid's shoulders to fashion a crude sling. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here."

Ryan wasn't stupid. He stuck close by Pete's side as they made a breathless run through the streets, silently praying to avoid any more creatures until the safe space was in sight.

Pete wouldn't think about it until later, but it was amazing they trusted each other right off the bat. One couldn't normally afford such risks in this town.

"OK, OK, here," Ryan finally panted out, and the two stopped just outside a residential area. It was definitely too risky for Pete to venture further. He leaned against a telephone pole and quickly regained his breath while the kid all but collapsed on the sidewalk. No supernatural stamina for him.

After a silence broken only by ragged breathing, Ryan drew himself up once more. "Th-thanks."

"It was nothing," Pete said honestly. He avoided looking at the houses ahead, needing no reminders right now. "It's what I do."

"I never heard of one who did," Ryan said quietly.

Why did no warning bells go off for Pete? Maybe because the kid was polite, quiet- definitely a contrast to the brash and crass of other humans from his wandering days, style without substance. Yep, this one was as different as he.