Disclaimer: I don't own the Night World

A/N: OC/OC pairing. This is my first Night World fic, so be kind. I'd appreciate that. Hope you enjoy!

We all wear masks and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing our own skin. ~ André Berthiaume

Wanted

The sun broke through the surface of the waves of the Atlantic Ocean, igniting the city of Manhattan in a deep orange; turning the sky a soft pink, vibrant red, and a touch of lilac.

Cars honked their horns; drivers stuck their heads out of their windows and yelled at other drivers. The sidewalks flooded with the morning commute.

A lanky, yet muscled-toned boy—about seventeen or eighteen, with a shock of chestnut-colored hair, and alluring dark brown eyes—leisurely made his way through all the crowds of people, looking for a good target (he had time for one more). Someone who was alone, definitely. Easily baited, must have. Same age, preferred.

Just then a cab pulled to a screeching halt at the curb near him.

"That's it, lady, I want you out of my cab!" the driver shouted, one of his arms flying out of his window, to emphasize his point.

"That's not fair!" the girl inside shouted back, just as livid. "I don't know where I am!"

"Too bad! You should've thought of that before you got me angry! Out!" he barked.

The girl huffed. "Fine, but you're not getting a dime from me." she spat, opening the door and stepping out. The tires screeched again as the cab pulled away, giving the girl barely enough time to jump out of its way and safely onto the sidewalk.

She was a slender, soft girl, dressed in a short denim skirt, a dark blue tank-top, with a long, black pea-jacket, and black, glossy, ankle-strap, two-inch heels. She was flushed and her sleek, long, rose-red hair was pulled back into a very unkempt bun, with strands hanging out every which way. She let out a groan staring wistfully at the street the cab had escaped down.

The brown-eyed boy smiled, knowing who his next target was going to be. It was like fate just dropping her into his hands.

With another sigh, the girl turned around toward the sidewalk, looking… confused and kind of lost, and very, very frustrated. Finally she stepped into the foot traffic, the boy quickly following. He made sure to stay a safe radius back, always keeping the same pace, always staying the same distance away.

The girl walked fast, at first, because she was frustrated that man had kicked her out of his cab. (She really hadn't meant to anger him.) Then, after a block or so she slowed down to admire Manhattan; taking in all the sights and sounds, enjoying the cool, fall breeze, and the array of colors the sun made as it slowly rose into the pale blue sky. Finally after about a block or two of walking she remembered what she was looking for and went up to someone who was selling hotdogs to ask for directions.

They talked briefly as the guy gave her directions to the nearest hotel. The red-haired girl then proceeded the way the guy had pointed but then sharply turned into an alleyway, not failing to notice the other person that followed.

The boy with the chestnut colored hair appeared again, but this time from one of the alleys that she was just approaching.

"You lost?" he called over to her.

The girl slowly walked up to him a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

"I'm afraid so." she sighed. "I was simply looking for a hotel. You see, I don't live here, I'm just visiting."

The boy smiled, showing off some of his perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. The girl batted her eyelashes and bit her lip.

"You wouldn't… happen to know… where the nearest Marriott is, would you?" she asked taking another step closer to the dashing, young man.

"Follow me." he said not missing a beat, holding out his arm to further the act.

The girl took it with a flirtatious smile, and they walked down the alleyway. He led her around for a little while, to make sure she felt comfortable, before he made his move.

As they were turning into another alley he took the girl's forearm and slammed her into the brick wall. She let out a yelp as her back hit the wall, and her head snapped back.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked letting fear seep into her voice.

The boy smiled but it wasn't cute or boyish anymore. It was malicious; that of a hunter catching its prey. His soft brown eyes flashed with silver and became cold.

She tried to get away, but he had her trapped, keeping a tight hold on her arms.

"If you struggle more, it'll only hurt more, sweetheart." he hissed as his canines sharpened and elongated, so long they were almost down to his chin.

The girl's eyes widened in horror and she gasped.

"No," she choked. "Please… please…" She would've started crying, but it just wasn't physically possible for her anymore.

"Aw, isn't that cute." the boy murmured reaching up to stroke her cheek. She cringed and whimpered.

She begged in a small voice, "Please…."

"How about this?" He pulled his hand away. "You're cute. I'll make it quick and painless. You won't feel a thing."

The girl shook her head, her chest heaving.

"Please, just let me go. I-I p-pr-promise, I-I won't tell anyone." Her voice broke.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." he whispered taking her chin and tilting it up to expose her neck. As he leaned forward the girl pushed and shoved, but the boy merely chuckled at her meager attempts. When she could feel his breath on her neck, and his canines brush her skin, the girl let a dagger—the blade being replaced by lignum vitae wood—slip from her coat sleeve, and just before he sank his teeth into her flesh, she shoved the blade through the sternum and clear through the heart.

The boy froze and choked. He stumbled back slightly with shocked, angry eyes; the color an evil glint of liquid silver.

He stumbled forward toward her, but the girl casually moved out of his way. He turned and his back hit the wall before he slid down, gasping, too shocked to do anything about the dagger sticking out of his chest. That or it was just too painful.

"Oh, I know," the girl said in mock sadness. "Surprised?" she asked as she pulled out a golden mask (it was simply a masquerade mask that circled around her eyes; the kind that was a stick-on/peel-off; no ribbon/string needed to keep it on her face; and the color changed every other week or so), and put it on.

The boy's eyes widened, ever-so-slightly, in recognition before narrowing in animosity.

"Y-ou," he managed to choke out.

She smiled and laughed. "Me."

The boy looked at her murderously, like he wanted to kill her—snap her neck if he could—but she'd won already. He could barely talk, let alone move.

"Well, if it's worth anything, I had a… good time." she said as the light started fading from his eyes and the silver dissipated. She leaned forward and pulled the dagger out, wiping the sticky, thick stuff on her blade onto the guy's shirt-sleeve. "And, I suppose you were cute, too." she told him as he slumped and fell over to one side, his fangs collapsing in, his skin turning a sickly yellow, his lips shrinking, and his blank eyes drying up. The girl made a face. "Well… you used to be anyway."

As she was slipping the dagger up her sleeve she heard a slow, dramatic clap come from behind her, from the entrance of the alley. The girl didn't seem surprised in the slightly by this, like she'd sensed this other person already.

"Brava," The voice was male. "And what do I owe the pleasure, this morning, m'lady?"

Without turning toward him and, instead, taking a matchbook from her jacket pocket she said, "Just doing my job." and pulled out a match, lit it, and threw it on the mummified vampire. He burst into a big show of flames before dying down.

"Do I get to see the lady's face?" he asked. The girl turned around, hands on her hips. "Guess not," the boy said taking notice of the mask on her face. "Beautiful eyes, though."

She sized him up as he slowly walked forward. He was, probably several inches taller than herself, kind of gangly. Some of his curly, golden-brown hair stuck out from underneath his fedora. His eyes were a deep moss green, and his face was half covered with a white mask; the white mask like the one you saw in The Phantom of the Opera. He was wearing slacks, and a navy blue button down.

He stopped a couple feet in front of her.

The girl smiled and pointed to her eyes. "Color contacts, but thanks anyway." she informed. "Yours aren't half-bad either."

The boy chuckled which had a weird affect on the girl. "Color contacts." he mimicked.

"Great minds think alike." she responded.

The boy laughed again. "So, you're her, huh?" he asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. She copied, except they were in her jacket pockets.

"That depends, who are you talking about?" she asked smiling coyly.

"The Vigilante." the boy stated.

The so-called, Vigilante, shrugged. "The Vigilante works. My friends call just me Vigilante."

"Do they now?" he asked. The Vigilante shrugged again.

"I think it really depends on the laziness. Who really wants to take the time to say The Vigilante all the time, you know?" She gestured to the boy with her chin. "You?"

He smiled. "Take a guess." The Vigilante narrowed her eyes and examined him carefully. When she didn't say anything the boy held his arms out and did a slow circle before coming to a stop, facing her again.

"The Grim Reaper," she said. "You've killed the most skilled hunters of our generation in three states." A smirk pulled at the edges of her lips. "Apart from me."

The Reaper's color-contacted, moss green eyes blazed with a, sort of, hunger. "Apart from you." he repeated ruefully.

"And so the hunter becomes the hunted." The Vigilante finished.

"Indeed." The Reaper agreed. There was a pause between the two. "You don't look so tough." he stated, narrowing his eyes.

The girl laughed. "Why do you think they call me the 'The Vigilante'?"

"Because you've killed my kind." he answered carefully.

"More than you could count."

"Oh? And just how many have you killed?"

"None of your business."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Is that an invitation?" she asked, answering his question with her own.

"Do I sense a challenge?" The Reaper's eyes arched with interest.

The Vigilante's lips curled up in a playful grin. "I don't know, you tell me." she answered, letting her blade slip from her sleeve.

The Reaper didn't miss this. "Then you wouldn't mind if I used a weapon, either, would you?" he asked, taking a switchblade out of his pocket and flipping it open. The blade glinted wickedly in the morning sunlight.

The Vigilante pursed her lips, thinking about this.

"Fine by me." she finally answered.

She threw the first punch, the Reaper caught her hand easily and spun her around, but she quickly grabbed his wrist, and, using his weight against him, flipped him over her shoulder and onto the asphalt.

He was quick to recuperate, spinning around with supernatural speed, and tripping her up. He jumped to his feet, his blade pulled ready to strike. The Vigilante quickly rolled away as the Reaper's steel connected with the ground, making sparks.

She landed in a half-crouch: her right leg was extended out, keeping her balanced.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and a smile pulled at her lips. Without warning, with lighting speed, she lunged forward. The Reaper easily dodged this attempt—their faces coming so close their breath mingled for an abrupt moment—but the Vigilante hooked her foot on his ankle and he went sprawling. She spun around, left hand raised, her dagger ready to strike at a moment's notice.

The Reaper smirked. "You're good," he commented as she placed a foot firmly on his chest, driving the heel of her shoe into the soft spot just below the sternum. He winced.

But before the Vigilante could finish him off, the Reaper sent a shockwave of Power at her. Pure, electric, telepathic Power. It drew the breath out of her body, she dropped her dagger her arm throbbing with pain, and she stumbled back a couple steps.

"Of course," she spat, glaring at him, holding her paralyzed arm. The Reaper got up, the smirk still on his lips and shrugged, before brushing himself off. The Vigilante frantically looked for her dagger which was currently lying inches away from the Reaper's feet. There was no way she'd be quick enough to dodge in, grab it, and dodge out again. Maybe if her whole body wasn't tingling with pain, she would, but not now.

The Reaper took a step forward and the Vigilante lashed out, using her good arm to throw a punch, but he dodged smoothly, right before his left hand darted out, the switchblade poised to run her through.

However, just inches from being, possibly, gutted, the Vigilante managed to grab his hand. Fire raced through her veins, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through the pain. Carefully, keeping her concentration, the Vigilante moved her thumb over the inside of the Reaper's wrist, and pressed her nail into the tendons between the ulna and radius.

He hissed, but pushed harder. That only made the Vigilante push harder. Finally he dropped his blade, his hand tingling, and numb. She capitalized on this moment and threw a punch. Again, he caught her hand, but this time he pulled her forward, closer to him, while sweeping her off her feet, literally.

The Vigilante gasped and started to fall back. Inches before she hit the ground, the Reaper caught her arm and unwaveringly spun her around and slammed her up against the alley wall. She yelped and tried to throw another punch with her left arm, but it was weak because it was still blazing, and the Reaper easily caught her fist. She growled as he pinned her arms above her head.

The Vigilante's mind raced. This never happened! This was never supposed to happen! It didn't seem possible that she'd lost. She had never lost before, and now… now she had. Now, it was looking pretty grim.

With one last fleeting attempt she tried slamming her foot onto the Reaper's, but it seemed this had been played on him too often, for he dodged, and pinned her feet together, making her totally immobile.

"But I'm better." he finished, his tone oozing with smugness.

The Vigilante gave him a black look, her chest heaving with indignation and resentment.

The Reaper leaned a little closer to her and she turned her head away, clamping her teeth together.

His nose skimmed her neck and an emotion, that was foreign to her, raced up her spine. It definitely wasn't fear; she'd known what fear was like. This emotion was different. It had her heart racing, her stomach tightening, her head swam and she gasped for air.

Okay, now she was scared. What kind of ludicrous feeling was this? And why was she feeling it? She hadn't felt any kind of emotion such as this ever, in her entire life! Not only that, but she had learned to push her emotions down. You couldn't fight with your emotions or you'd surely die. Not even the negative ones that usually fed that inner fire.

"Just get it over with already!" she snapped. The Reaper chuckled, his breath tickled her neck. The Vigilante squeezed her eyes shut as she fought to squash the emotion that flooded over her at the sound of his laugh, at the feel of him so close to her.

His lips brushed her neck and she thought, for sure, this was it. He was going to kill her like he did with all the other hunters. That's just what he did. However, he did something totally opposite of killing her; something that left her completely dumbfounded.

"Until we meet again, m'lady." he murmured in her ear before disappearing.

The Vigilante's eyes snapped open and she looked around, but all she saw was sunlight flooding through the alleyway, and the pile of ashes that was once the vampire with chestnut-colored hair. There was no sign of him; he'd even picked up his switchblade.

As the Vigilante picked up her own dagger, and slowly made her way back home, one thought lingered in her mind: Why hadn't he killed me?

Well, there it is, I hope you enjoyed!

.happiness.

~ See you at the Millennium!