"I'm glad to see you again," he says with a smirk.

And she feels that all too familiar urge to punch him in his stupid face. Instead, she grips Shikama Dōji tighter in her glove clad hand and grits her teeth. Out of the corner of her eye she sees her squad in the distance, fighting as hard as they can, sweat rolling down their foreheads, blood dripping down their cheeks, and she knows that she too has to do her best.

He doesn't make the first move, crimson eyes eyeing her with a mixture of mischief and hunger as she stands there, legs trembling. His gaze on her is unnerving – disconcerting even. She hates it.

In an effort to make him avert his gaze, she lunges towards him, her demon weapon out, black and menacing to everyone but the vampire in front of her. One second, he's standing there, eyes trained on her, the next – there is nothing but empty space.

She feel his breath near her ear and stiffens, spinning around, gripping her scythe close to her.

"Too slow."

A patronizing voice, as if she was a child - don't underestimate me! The Hīragi swings her weapon, putting as much strength into that one motion as possible, towards him. The look in his eyes right before she slices off the bottom of his stark white coat tells her that he let her.

"My, my," she almost laughs. "You truly are beasts."

Her calmness hides her fear.

"You're shaking, little lamb."

"You must need glasses."

Running towards him, again and again, weapon out, again and again, it was an endless cycle, one she didn't know how to end, one he didn't want to end. This perpetual dance was fated to wear her down until she was nothing.

And then, he would come to her, right before she collapsed, just enough fight left in her to claw at his torso. But it was futile. It always was. He is leaning down beside her, hands going to her face and she suddenly felt so very small. Then it became painful, as his fingers dug into her cheeks and she cried out – stop.

The sneer on his face, she wanted to rip it into pieces.

She smells him when his mouth goes to her neck. The smell of blood, sharp and unpleasant and an underlying faint scent of something she couldn't quite put her finger on. A combination of sweet honey and cinnamon. It is a fragrance that is his alone, she had never sensed it anywhere else before.

Then it is her blood that fills her senses. His sharp canines pierce her soft flesh and she instinctively calls out for someone, anyone. No one answers and she hopes that at least her comrades had retreated and weren't lying in a ditch somewhere drained of life. Slowly, so slowly that it makes her feel so much more unpleasant, he drinks her blood, and she can sense the sadistic pleasure emitting from him. But she doesn't submit, all the while scratching, clawing, kicking, as fruitless as it was. It didn't deter him even once.

His hands, clad in white gloves much like her own squeeze around her throat. She gasps in shock and tries desperately to remove them, and he just tightens his grip. Like a vice. Squeezing down, compressing, she's just a fragile little human in his hands.

It doesn't take long for her to start to feel lightheaded. Shinoa feels her body being emptied and just before the darkness that is death consumes her, he stops.

And the vampire noble lifts his head from her neck, looking down at her with those crimson eyes with an indiscernible emotion – a drastic change from his usual slyness.

"It would be a shame if you were to die here," he murmurs absently and with a glove clad finger, he traces the wound on her neck.

With her last ounce of strength she manages to gasp out, "the feeling…isn't mutual…"

Her vision fails her and the last thing she sees is his familiar wicked smirk.

A/N these crack ships will be the death of me one day

is this even romance