A/N: Hey there! This is going to be a bit of a darker, but still romantic story with very short chapters. I like the concept of short, snappy chapters, it allows me to type them up quickly and then keep you updated at a really regular basis.

So if you think this story is worth continuing, then please do review!

Inspired by the Hannibal Lecter movies (but do not fret! Nowhere near as dark!)

Nightshadows

Chapter 1

She lay there, radiant like a flower, awaiting the break of dawn from the next day.

Calm, peaceful, but knowingly restless in his opinion.

Her chest heaved up lightly, carefully, before sinking in a steady rhythm.

And he stared intently at her immaculate form. Her cotton pink hair twirling and twisting softly across her head, along her shoulders and over her collar bone.

It glittered and shimmered like a sparkling ocean in the dim moonlight which poured through the stained window glass.

And her skin.

Her skin

It rounded and curved and stretched in all its glory, delicately but fitting, as if she were made of silk and not tissue like all other humans.

He dared not touch it, for fear that even a slight brush of his fingertips against her alabaster shell could destroy the image of perfection presented in front of him.

And by dear God, that was something he truly did not want.

Even though he would be once more able to view those spectacular eyes of hers.

They shone brightly like the most polished, cherished emeralds of this world, but contained a specific deepness, like malachites, which, he thought, no, he knew only he could decipher and understand to its fullest.

Her body was breathtaking.

He dared not think about it too much, for lust and eagerness began to clutch at every fibre of his being.

What would he give to trace her contours? To let his hands feel the spotlessness of her neck, down to her soft collarbone, continuing with the sweet well-sized mounds that led towards the flat of her belly and then led him along her tender legs.

She sighed gently.

It was as if that simple, little, silent gesture had caused a blast of wind to break free and dash his way, wafting him with the intoxicating scents of her being.

Forest, it was. Leafs of winter, rain having just poured on dry, crumbly earth and ground, rose buds and red fruits. Cherry.

None of the smells that surrounded her was as distinct as cherry.

Wherever he went, wherever he looked, turned, wandered, he would smell cherry.

Everything reeked of her.

She was his curse.

And the irony of it was that she didn't even know.

She didn't know what he thought nor felt.

Why he stood here every night, watching her in her sleep, translucently like a golden light and seemingly apparitional.

She did not know who he was, what he looked like, that he even existed.

But wait, she did know!

In a way, she did.

She had seen him before, but she had never taken note of it, of course.

But that was not why she knew him.

How could he put it?

She hunted him. Since five years, he had accounted, she was after him. Desperately, eagerly, frustratedly she tried to bring meaning to all of his actions and deduce conclusions of characteristics that would fit – all futile.

She couldn't comprehend him. He was there, for all the world to see, but still he was hidden.

Like a shadow.

That is why he had called himself Nightshadow.

Or maybe they had ultimately given him the name, not without his brilliance having forced them to dub him that and nothing else.

Because, of course, none of them had ever seen him. No police officer, no civilian, no secret agent of the FBI or CSI and especially not any detective.

Not even her, the most brilliant of detectives. She was the star in that field, the amazing, cursingly sly and clever young lady who was asked to hunt down the infamous Nightshadow and thus end his carrier of mass murderer and psychopath.

Psychopath.

He could live with the former, but the latter?

How would they ever understand what truly went on in the complexity of his mind?

And just because they didn't, they found themselves the right to nickname him a psychopath?

He was far from it, very far!

If at all, they were the ones who should reconsider their sanity. He was a mastermind like the world had never seen it before; what fault was it his if they were simply too dumb and simple-stricken to catch him?

Two years they were chasing him like dogs chasing cars – an action not worth the effort.

And then they employed her.

He remembered how his eyes had first landed on her, when she stood so incredibly mournful on the streets, doing what she had been paid for and would be.

If only she knew she was so close to him every night – that he was right there in front of her but she could not see him!

That he lusted and desired her with such incredible, devastating passion he thought he would implode at any given point.

She was turning him a psychopath, unknowingly.

He could not tell if he loved the sensation or not, but he knew one day wherein he could not see her would destroy him to a point where the safety of anyone passing by was no longer secured at all.

He hoped she wouldn't be the end of him.

All he was certain of was that simply visiting her and seeing her would no longer do.

His need was growing, growing rapidly like a spreading fungus.

He needed to...deepen their bond.

And soon the little game would commence. He'd wallow in her cries and ecstasy.

Because, what she did not know, but he was so painstakingly aware of, was the fact that she needed him too.

A/N: As said, short chapters. But it gives me the chance to type these up in between my other stories as a kind of „break." I promise updates for this one will come more frequently, as chapters are very short.

Please leave a review to tell me what you think of this story; is it worth to continue?