Warnings: This story has mentions of death, violence, bad language and M/M relationships. If anyone is offended by any of these leave now or don’t hold it to me. If you cringe every time you read a man and a WOMAN together then I suggest you leave also because M/F is featured as well. Blood is frequent.

Enjoy, xxx

Andrew

Prologue

Mikhael first met the boy he was to kill one summer night on a deserted street, deep within the livelihood of Paris.

They had been walking in opposite directions so it was already certain they would be facing each other for at least half of their separate journeys. They both wore black, or colours that would be dyed black in the shadows of the nightly hours.

Mikhael would be proud to admit he was dressed in the most glamorous –and most expensive- Armani suit available to man at the time, the fabric feeling soft yet sturdy over his flesh. He would also mention his hair, and how the blonde locks had been pampered into one of the latest styles. Mikhael could never cease to be amazed by the way human styles changed so often. Back when he was a young boy everyone wore the same outfits, and still, 7 years later, they wore the same things. Now humans had grown more fickle and the style changed every season for every year; for children every day.

The right side of his head had been French-pleated to his scalp and the rest of his hair was left to lie in the soft summer winds that graced the earth. He took his time to look at his reflection in every available shop window or street light. Back when he was younger he would have laughed at someone who looked like he did now: his silly fringe only half covering his face, almost like he was wearing two different faces at once and that they might be glued together.

The boy walking opposite was immensely different to Mikhael and the very air seemed different on the two sides of the street. While Mikhael seemed to be on the peak of human culture and style, even with the way he walked in a superior yet gentle manor gave off his proud personal and physical adoration in himself. The boy on the other hand looked as if he held no care for personal looks on such a dark night. He had left on his night top and wore a pair of baggy track suit bottoms that were covered in mud. He was slouched and ignorant of the world around him. He looked poor and almost homeless. However, he held a cleanliness about himself that made it quite unbelievable that he lived on the streets. His clothes may have been dirty but his skin was not, and that symbolised misplacement in his life. But Mikhael was not a psychiatrist and had no intention of acting as one.

The boy was only out walking; he was not on business or had a selected destination like Mikhael had. In such a street at such a time he had no purpose. He simply shouldn’t have been there. He had no reason. His feet had led him there and mindlessly he kept on walking with no real awareness that he was in fact walking. As if lost in a dream world his steps sounded disconnected from his feet.

This was only one of the things to attract Mikhael’s gaze.

The young gentleman walked down this street every day at this précis time. Some of the residents along the street thought he was a man with a sweet desire for the taste of Paris night life. He would agree, but would let the conversation linger, so that they may see he was also a man of good humour.

This certain street was a necessity in his life, otherwise it might take him more wasted minutes to reach whichever way he chanced upon to be going: to the city for his feast of life or to his home to rest the lust off of his skin.

As Mikhael delighted in the taps his Gucci boots made upon the stone earth he was surprised to hear another sound joining that of his happy boots.

Never, in his two years living in the area and walking on this very pathway every night, had his ears ever heard the footsteps of another join his presence so late at night. Dawn was approaching and to be walking at this time indicated that they had been walking all night.

His eyes found the source to be the silhouette of the slouching boy. This surprised him. At this hour he expected it to be a stumbling, red-faced middle aged man, drunk on the liquid that men craved. A lustful look in his eyes would have delighted Mikhael; to know that he was beautiful and exotic- even if he was being enhanced by the drunken, sloppish vision of a man on the booze.

But a child? Mikhael wanted to stop walking and simply stare, as if he were the one drunk on life, at this figure until it passed onto another street or around the next corner- out of sight and out of mind- but so he did not appear out of place himself his boots kept up their relentless tapping. Though now joined by this newcomer’s trainers as they rubbed against the earth making a duet. The boy had moved from the path and onto the grassland, away from Mikhael. He trampled through gardens with no realisation or care and it heightened Mikhael’s interest.

Mikhael’s eyes bore into this figure as they walked, as if looking longer and harder might give this person a purpose to be there. Maybe even a purpose to exist.

The boy was beautiful and young, accented by the glow of the lamp overhead. His hair was a dazzling and exotic white. It was wild; not abiding to the rules of its owner. It poured over the boy’s ears but never quite left the safety of his skin, sticking close to his ears and daring no further, but it would accept widening out a little. Supporting its own glow, like the moon, it didn’t matter that it hadn’t been stylised (or even brushed) like Mikhael’s had; it had its own radiance that made it stand out against the shadows.

As if drawn, like a moth to a flame, Mikhael stepped down onto the main road and began the graceful movement of crossing the road, gaining a closer proximity with the unaware boy who continued walking. His head bent and staring at the ground as if it might hold as the answers to his questions. Or perhaps just swallow him whole and make it easier.

It was this type of person who intrigued Mikhael, made his sense heightened and his blood flow faster and more aroused through his body. Such beauty, as if belonging to neither man nor woman, but just an angel. Mikhael felt his eyes and their unwillingness to move from this boy. Surely it didn’t hurt to stare if the person you were staring at did not realise?

Mikhael wanted to have this boy. Wanted him undeniably. His body wanted him, his tongue wanted to taste this boy and his blood. This person reminded him of himself much earlier in life and the thought of tasting himself aroused him beyond measure.

The thought of holding a past memory in his arms and drinking it until it died and could be thrown away was the best imagery he had ever thought up.

They neared each other, a few metres separated life and death for the boy, and Mikhael’s hands formed fists as they got ready.

The boy stopped walking, as if he’d woken up from his dream. His shoulders loosened and he slowly lifted his head as if to capture the first rays of dawn and keep them to himself forever. He blinked heavily and his eyes caught the image of Mikhael’s presence in front of him.

He smiled a most amazing smile, so soft yet so strong at the same time. Holding the touch of a feather but the awareness of a brick. It was barely even a smile, more of a saddening tug of the lips but it had the same amazement of a real smile. Mikhael’s eyes widened but he would never admit that the smile had done anything to waver him and his desire to kill this boy. To end his pitiful life.

But was it so pitiful? This boy had the will to smile at a stranger and really mean it. Mikhael would not look a man of older years in the eye unless asked directly to do so. Biting the inner of his mouth Mikhael ignored the smile and brought himself together quickly, his emotions lessening by no means but the bravery to act on them had been lost with the look in those eyes and the smile upon those lips.

Their shoulders brushed and Mikhael had to close his eyes to contain himself from killing this boy so quickly and so violently. The sun was rising and now he had no time left. He had wasted his time by acting so indifferent.

The boy wandered past Mikhael with no sense of change. He did not know his life had been spared, that he had been gifted to live longer by the rays of the first light of the day. He barely had noticed the older male and simply took his pleasure in the freedom he had been granted. The sun lighted his mood considerable and he made for the street that would take him home to a warm welcome.

Mikhael caught the corner of the street- the wall belonged to the old French house he stayed in was breathing beneath his fingers. He didn’t try to fight the desire to turn back and watch the boys back as he walked away, the same aura surrounding him but a different person belonging to it.

Mikhael smirked and licked his dry lips. The boy was certainly interesting. So capable of an emotional change in such a shadowed way that it increased Mikhael’s interest by ten folds.

Grinning wildly to himself as the boy moved on, perfectly unaware of the danger he’d been in; Mikhael basked in the sun’s gentle rays before the pain grew too much. Without his smirk wavering he moved beyond the corner and seemed to disappear.

How many mistakes did I miss this time? (slaps self)