A/N Just a small exercise to write in a guy's perspective (3rd person, anyway). I will probably not continue this. Btw, I'm sorry for any typos/grammer problems. I have a bad eye for those things.

He dipped his head close to her face and donned a small smile, "Where is she?"

"How would I know?" she replied, tartly. The white slab of light that cast down into her eyes made no difference to their dark color.

Paxton Fettel swayed around his trophy win, expecting to get straight answers from this woman; rather, he found himself hint-less. She jeered up at him, visibly unaware of his particular interrogation tactics. He began to resent her fearless approach.

"We both know how you know. But it all depends on if you want to tell me." He watched her face contort to thought. Fettel knew she was going to give in when the time came, but his patience was growing weary.

She sighed quickly, looked around the grimy dim room and said, "I don't know why you think I know this…"

"Because it's simple," Fettel took hold of her shoulder and came closer to her face. She smelled stale, cold and, better yet, terrified. She didn't appear frightened, but on the inside, he knew she was uneasy. He lathered it all up. "Either you tell me, or I find out in a different fashion."

She immediately clicked into gear. He smiled to himself thinking about how popularized his procedures were. She ought to know what he did to get what he needed.

Fettel was beginning to like this girl, but then she started squirming in her barricaded seat and shouted, "I really don't know a thing, so back off!"

This made things difficult. With patience disappearing, he took in the scent again, this time, brushing the tip of his nose against her jaw line. He swept back and forth along her chin and then finally found a nice spot to stop and taste. Her skin was hot, compared to her cold smell, but he didn't stop there. She momentarily froze when his tongue slid down her neck and he took both her shoulders with his hands. She wasn't going to get out of this. Fettel brought his face up so he could look into her eyes.

"Mmm…," he was pressing his mouth on her cheek now. "I wouldn't mind just a little taste."

Suddenly, she shot back from him, as if finally free from his unmovable trance, and looked him straight in the eye. He moved closer, eliminating the small distance she created from jerking away. Again, his tongue skimmed her skin; he brushed his lips against the bottom of her lower lip and slowly, gently, grazed her lip with his teeth. Normally, Fettel was quick with his treats. But this woman, this odd, fearless woman, made him want to go slower. He wanted to watch and feel her every emotion as he dug into her. It was turning him insane.

She fidgeted underneath his grip. Small grumbles slipped from her sealed lips and her eyes were shut tightly now. He wished her eyes were open, how he wanted her to see him do his work, it gave him a rush to think of her watching.

"Open your eyes," he asked, being gentle with his hungry kisses. "Open your eyes and see how I perform."

She didn't respond, only squirmed and mumbled some more. A slight layer of sweat beamed off her face and made her look bothered; he liked that. Fettel took his right hand and positioned it against her cheek. His thumb brushed her face lightly and her eyes opened. "That's better."

Fettel immediately dove back to her lips, tasting the flesh gingerly and being more forceful with his teeth this time. Faint memories began lighting up in his head as thin sheets of blood spread throughout his mouth. He took a moment to examine the thoughts as he watched her eyes dart around his face in worry. The memories faded as quickly as they came so he plunged back to be close to her face once more.

Before he could taste her blood again, he heard her mumble, "Stop, God, please stop." Her bravery had vanished and she was now alike all his other victims: scared and better yet, submissive. He took this opportunity to return to questioning.

"Are you willing to answer my question then?" Fettel probed, removing his hand from her face but still staying close. He felt a little intimidation would do the trick; and moving away would only make her more confident.

"I, well, I…," she struggled for words. "I knew her-knew of her, a long time ago. Has to have been, ten…twelve years…"

"I want the Alma of now, not of past," He declared, inching closer to her face, mouth ready to take another swig.

"Really, it's been so long, I-I haven't seen her since…" She was trembling all over. "Believe me, and it's not like I would lie…I mean, what have I to gain from not telling you?"

Fettel thought about this for a moment. This whole act of hers made him anxious, and he did not like that feeling. While her statement seemed logical, she could be tricking him all the more.

"Lying?" Oh, the thought of it makes me itch. "I have my own lie detector, you see; why don't we try it out?"

His last word became muffled as he dug deep into her face. The blood spun out of her, drenching his face and filling his mouth. He tasted every memory and every thought which passed through her mind. Everything was shock and alarm right now, it would take only a few more moments to grab hold of a precious memory-the one he had been searching for.

It hit him violently, the memory, the thoughts, they buzzed and shuttered, unleashing a clear image of Alma: smiling, young and beautiful. She held out her hand which was taken by the memory's pilot. Dull walls plastered behind Alma's dark hair, so dim compared to Alma's glow. The memory shook, and they were now outside, holding hands, singing. Watching clouds and swinging their feet from the bench they sat upon.

The memory vanished. The after taste of her blood played on his tongue and he wanted more. As he was about to go in for seconds, she spat in his face.

Fettel stood there, almost stunned that she even had enough will-power to do anything. Alive, and shivering, she hacked and moaned, shifting her body around in the chair, trying to escape.

"What the hell?" She screamed, inching her head away from him. Her face was red and torn. She was losing blood fast as it was slipping off her chin and onto her lap. The power of her legs weren't enough to break the rope that bond them; she sat still, waiting.

Paxton Fettel watched her as he scrubbed off the spittle from his bloodied cheek. His smile had left from his face and he stood taller. Again he got closer, coveting her blood and her memories, but this time, he dropped the coy approach and clasped his hands on the arms of her and the chair. She wobbled under his grip and tried to go as far back into the chair as possible. When Fettel touched her lips again, he was suddenly thrown back from her; then everything turned black.