Night Hunter  (rated "R")
An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon
Jenni10647@aol.com, jennyann@ix.netcom.com

Disclaimer and Author's Note: Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and the 
X-Files belong to Chris Carter and FOX Network. The remainder 
of this story is mine. This story is the fifth in a series, the first 
four are "Promises to Keep", "Vampire's Kiss", "Interlude with a 
Vampire", and "Vampire's Ball." These stories all assume that a 
love/sexual relationship already exists between Mulder and 
Scully, and on occasion includes the vampire Jason as well. I 
have tried to work the stories around events taking place in the 
episodes as best I can, but the stories should be read as a timeline 
all their own. All four previous stories are available at the 
Gossamer archive or by emailing me. One final note: I'm rating 
this story "R" for violence and sex. 

Part One


	Sweet sixteen. Reaching up to undo the heavy coil of 
hair, she let it fall in long, ebony waves down her back. It was 
long enough that she could almost sit on the ends, and she simply 
loved the feel of it, like a thick layer of velvet across her arms. 
Her laugh, however, was not pretty - harsh and cold, the sound  
sliced the air like a knife. Stepping off the porch, she wandered 
out to the old oak tree. Staring up at it for a moment, she froze, 
then bolted into motion. Round and round, she ran, her hair like a 
black banner in the wind, strands lashing like a frayed whip 
across her cheekbones. 
	Round and round, and round again, feet pushing at the 
softened ground, arms whirling, breath coming in short gasps 
between brightly reddened lips. Twirling, spinning, she circled 
until she collapsed like a rag doll to the winter-hardened earth. 
Sprawled there, she rasped out a laugh again, then closed her 
eyes.
	Night fell quickly while she remained on the chilled 
grass, unmoving, until the moon rose sharp and vivid in the sky. 
Her eyes fluttered open, their color nearly as dark as her hair, and 
focused on the brilliant round orb. Pushing herself up to her 
knees, she gave it an ironic bow, then found her way to a 
standing position. 
	"Happy Birthday Rena," she whispered to her own ears, 
then her face settled into an unearthly calm as she looked towards 
the house. In the light filtering from the open window, she could 
see her father's big body resting in front of the flickering TV 
screen and her mother's painfully slender, fair-haired figure 
floating around him. Puttering, cleaning, fixing - Carla never 
seemed to stand still. Even seated, she was always fluttering, 
moving. In almost unconscious response, her daughter had 
cultivated stillness. Standing in the darkened yard, she was more 
silent than the trees, more dead than the wood of the porch.
	Or so she appeared. Only Rena knew the fire that 
coursed through her veins. Puberty had brought its share of 
changes, turning the child into a woman with strengths she was 
only just beginning to understand. But some of those new ways 
she already understood well. Walking towards the front door 
with all the care and delicate balance of a ballet-dancer, she let 
the smile widen, it was time for a change.
					- - - - - 

Four days later
	
	"Scully, here's another." FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder 
knelt down gingerly on the hall carpet. Reaching out with a 
gloved hand, he poked at something small laying in the corner of 
the doorway. The pinkish fragment squished slightly at his touch, 
releasing a faint, sickly-sweet odor that made his nose crinkle in 
distaste.
	"Don't mess with it, Mulder." his partner chided him as 
she peered over his shoulder. He grimaced in response, then 
carefully picked up the offending morsel with thumb and 
forefinger. He quickly deposited it into the small plastic evidence 
bag she was holding ready, then held his hand out in front of him, 
unwilling to contaminate anything else with those fingers.
	"What do you think it is?" he asked. Dana Scully rose to 
her feet, lifting the bag up to the light. Her heart-shaped face was 
calm as she perused the questioned object, then her lips pursed 
thinly.
	"A piece of the intestines, at first glance. I'll have to get 
it under the scope to be sure. It does appears to have been 
chewed on, like most of the rest of the pieces we've found."
	Mulder's face was hard as he got up to tower over her. 
Looking down into her eyes, he spoke grimly. "See what you can 
do to pick up the rest of it..." He swallowed hard, then focused 
solely on her upturned face. "Then you'd better get onto the 
morgue and see if you can figure out what is from whom, and 
what is missing."
	She nodded. "What are you going to do?"
	He shrugged. "Talk to the neighbors again. Then I'll 
start calling through their address book. At least I can try to find 
out who saw them last. And see if anyone knows of a connection 
with the other victims." His voice held no inflection, they both 
knew it was a long-shot. Like most stranger-killings, these would 
not be easily solved. The fourth in a series of violent murders 
over the past three days, these were obviously the oldest of the 
lot. And time took a terrible toll on both evidence and memories. 
In this case, it hadn't taken more than a step into the house to 
realize that these killings had occurred a few days previously. The 
smell was all the evidence they needed. 
	Well, it was all the evidence they needed for their own 
minds. The courts would require more, which meant that Scully 
was looking at several long hours, maybe even days, trying to 
literally put the pieces of the mangled bodies back together. But 
there was always information to be found from the remains of the 
victims, however damaged or decayed they might be. Each 
fragment had a story to tell, each effect carried the echo of the 
cause. 
	Also there had to be a connection between the chosen 
victims. As random in their actions as serial killers could be, there 
was always something that set them off. Some reason why they 
picked on one person and not another. It could be as simple as 
the color of someone's hair or eyes, or the clothes they wore. It 
could be location, the killer scouting a grocery store or mall. 
Unfortunately, that meant it could be almost anything at all. The 
only thing they had going for them was the accumulation of 
victims - sooner or later they'd be able to discern that connection. 
But that certainly meant more people were going to die before 
this monster was caught.
	And that was hardly a pleasant thought.
					- - - - -

	Mulder put down the phone and leaned back in his chair. 
Rubbing at his temples, he stared blankly at the cluttered walls of 
his basement office. Photographs, drawings, documents, notes, 
all seemed thrown up haphazardly, some barely clinging to the 
wall, others trapped to the plaster like pinned butterflies. His 
brows tightened as he stared at the big poster to his left, then he 
pushed himself backwards, the chair legs screeching on the tile as 
he forced himself to his feet.
	He wasn't going to get anywhere just sitting here. He'd 
managed to reach about a third of the people in the Torver's 
address book, and had left messages for about one third more. 
He'd left the number of his cell phone on those machines, so any 
call-backs would come to him wherever he was. So no reason not 
to get outside. It might have been reaching at straws, but he 
wanted another look at the crime scenes - this time alone without 
the interfering presence of the myriad forms of law enforcement 
that always descended upon them like a plague of locusts. He 
needed to get a feeling for the sites the way they would have 
appeared to the killer or killers, though a part of his mind was 
already convinced that this was a lone act. The level of violence 
was akin to that of a pack of wild dogs tearing into their prey - 
but it was also evidence of a rage so deep that he doubted it 
could be shared with another human being.
	Mulder was no stranger to rage, he had felt it curl 
through his belly and squeeze on his diaphragm until he could 
barely breath for the weight of it. It rode with him, always, along 
with the guilt and frustration and anguish that had accompanied 
him since he was twelve and his little sister had been stolen away. 
Even as he donned his coat, and nearly fled the confines of the 
FBI building for the openness of the winter night, his thoughts 
whirled around his memories and then focused on the image of 
the Torver's sixteen year-old daughter.
	The photograph, now resting in his pocket, had showed 
an unsmiling face, fair skinned under a free-fall of raven-black 
hair. The face had held that uneasy half-maturity of a teenager 
coming uncomfortably into young adulthood, the eyes dark with 
questions and demands. She reminded him far too much of 
himself at her age, and of his fantasies of how his own sister 
might have looked if she had been allowed to reach that age 
normally. Had she? Would he ever know if she had?
	The cold air hit him sharply, nearly robbing him of his 
breath, as he stepped out of the building. His car was parked 
close by, an early arrival allowing him to steal a prime parking 
spot that morning. He might never know what had happened to 
his sister, but knowing with some certainty what had become of 
Renata Torver was hardly a consolation. It might take Scully and 
the Bureau labs time to confirm which of the fragments of human 
wreckage found in that house belonged to the young girl, but that 
was only official knot-tying. All evidence pointed to the fact that 
all three family members had been home that night, for it was to 
have been Renata's birthday dinner.
	Running the heater on high in his car, Mulder rubbed his 
hands together while the car sluggishly began to warm up. The 
memory of the abandoned birthday cake sitting forlornly on the 
kitchen counter would figure prominently in his memory of this 
case. Yes, he would remember everything with his curse of  
perfect photographic recall - but in each case there were a few 
images that always remained most vivid. Like catalog cards, they 
served as key points to bring the rest of the associated memories 
to his mind upon demand. And he knew, already, that the sight of 
the small white-frosted dessert with tiny, red candied flowers on 
the top, resting untouched amidst the destruction, would be with 
him for a very long time.
					- - - - -

	Taking the sites in reverse order to their discovery, but 
with greater fidelity to the timing, he went to the Torver house 
first, then on to the others. The alley behind the small pub was as 
bitter-smelling as he remembered, the shadows thick upon the 
dirty pavement. Even the brilliant glow from his flashlight barely 
penetrated the gloom. From there, it was a shorter hop to the 
park, where a faint, smudged chalk outline awaited him on frozen 
concrete. The marks on the grass had been made with spray 
paint, giving the impression of a modern artist at work, tossing 
color in random patterns. Now a layer of snow rained down to 
cover those spots, wiping them away with a clear cold whiteness.
	Then finally, Mulder arrives at the last murder site. 
What more fitting a place for unnatural death than a cemetery? 
Under the weight of the heavy winter, this was now a long, white 
expanse, the gray of the marker stones barely visible under the 
blanket of snow. Here and there, crystalline forms glittered in the 
moonlight, the full moon glowing high above in the night sky. 
	Mulder buried his gloved hands in his pockets, 
unconsciously squeezing his shoulders together in a shudder. 
Standing in contrast to the sparkly whiteness surrounding him, he 
was a slice of darkness. A dust of snowflakes only highlighted the 
wet blackness of his hair, strands of which lay plastered to his 
temples, ears and neck, just barely reaching the top edge of his 
long black overcoat. A slender man, he was tall and graceful in 
motion, now still and supple, like a sapling braced against the 
wind.
	A slight, ice-cold breeze burned color into his cheeks 
and lips, swirled across his hair and played with the ends of his 
coat, twisting it around his calves. Then it swung past him, 
carrying the scent of the man to the nostrils of an equally silent 
shape crouched behind a bare-limbed tree in the distance.
					- - - - -

	Her head lifted to the breeze and she sniffed sharply. 
The smell of her recent kill still lingered in the air, stimulating a 
rush of hunger. Saliva pooled between her teeth, but still she 
waited. For there was something else mixed with that scent; a 
taste of human male, it was clean and strong. Hunger made her 
muscles tense, but another feeling pooled in her belly. A desire, 
unfamiliar, yet twined with the need to feed, rose in demand. She 
wanted him in a way that was new to her, desired to push him 
down into the snow and lick at his skin.
	She shook her head wildly from side to side, growling 
harshly. Her eyes glowed yellow in the moonlight, and she threw 
the burning sky-orb a fierce glance before she slipped silently 
over the snow-covered ground closer to him. Prey or mate, the 
decision hadn't really been made, she was running on instinct, 
trusting herself to know what would be done when the time was 
right.
	Closer she got, until she was only a few feet from him, 
hidden on his right side by the cover of a large monument. From 
that position she got her first clear look at his face as he stared 
intently at empty space. Hair not quite as dark as hers was 
tousled and damp over a high forehead. The nose was strong, the 
mouth full and generous, the cheekbones drawn in a high arch. 
The eyes were dark, shadowed, the color unclear in the dim light, 
though she could feel the intelligence burning in them. And his 
smell was stronger now, wafting to her in brief gusts of the wind. 
	And she was hungry, so very, very hungry. Even as the 
moon began its slow wane from full strength, her need seemed to 
grow all the stronger, as though it could counter the mooncycle 
itself if she could only feed enough. But to simply use this one as 
food, it would be a waste. He didn't have the scent of one of her 
own, of a fitting permanent mate, but he was as close as she had 
ever found. As close as she might ever find, for as far as she 
knew, she was unique upon this earth.
	Lifting a forearm, she clawed at the air, then poised to 
leap - only to feel another presence insert itself between them. 
The smell was wrong, disturbing, it forced her to slink backwards 
into the deeper shadows, a frustrated moan escaping her lips.
					- - - - -

	"This is not a good place." 
	Mulder shuddered in surprise as the soft whisper 
sounded in his ear. He spun sideways, air whistling over his teeth 
as he drew a quick breath, then expelled it in abrupt relaxation. 
Pausing for a moment before he replied, his dark hazel eyes 
focused on the pale, familiar face of his friend.
	"No, it's not the fault of the place itself." He looked 
around him with consideration. "I think it's the echo of what was 
done here. I've always thought that actions and emotions leave 
traces of themselves behind, at least the strong ones do." Mulder 
chuckled. "Scully would say, however, that it's all in my 
imagination."
	Jason smiled, thin lips drawing back slightly to reveal a 
quick glimpse of white teeth. "I think, perhaps, that you 
underestimate Dana's sensitivity. Though you are right, she 
would be the first to deny it, even in her herself."
	The two men shared a look that said 'women' without a 
word being spoken. Then both faces, one burned red with the 
cold, the other sheer in its pallor, turned serious.
	"Something is hunting the city," Jason said. Mulder 
looked startled for a moment, then he nodded, an ironic half-
smile tilting at his mouth. 
	"Yes, we've had four separate murders in about as many 
days. The most recent happened here."
	Jason nodded. "I know...I can smell the blood." He 
shivered slightly, gaining a focused stare from his companion.
	"Do you think...?"
	"That it's one of my kind?" The fair-haired vampire 
shook his head. "No. Of that much I am sure. I would sense it if 
that was the case. Instead, I can feel only the echo of the acts, the 
scent of the blood shed here and the presence of 
something....something I cannot identify. It is....disturbing."
	Mulder pursed his lips, digging his hands deeper into his 
coat pockets. "I didn't think it was a vampire, there was too much 
blood left behind. Not much else, though." He grimaced. 
"Whoever, or whatever, is responsible for the deaths appears to 
have a taste for human flesh."
	"It's still close by," Jason said, his head turning side-to-
side, his emerald eyes piercing into the shadows. He shook his 
head, then sighed. "But I cannot be certain of where." He stared 
intently up at the taller man watching him. "I don't think it's a 
good idea for you to be out here alone."
	"You sound like Scully," Mulder complained, but only 
lightly. 
	"She is possessed of great good sense," Jason returned 
solemnly. "And she will not be happy if she knows where you 
are."
	"Probably," Mulder allowed. "But sometimes I think 
better alone." He spoke slowly reaching for the words to explain. 
"I need to be able to see the scene the way the killer saw it, to try 
to get into his shoes. And those of the victim. To look through 
both their eyes." He shrugged. "It's hard to concentrate with the 
forensics teams all over the place. So I prefer to come back 
afterwards when I can have the site to myself."
	Jason nodded. "I understand, but...perhaps you would 
do better to make your examination during the daylight."
	Mulder shook his head. "No, the crimes were done at 
night. Most are....'darkness covers a multitude of sins'," he 
quoted wryly, the memory of Scully saying the same words 
resolving in his ears even as he echoed the thought.
	"Still..."
	"I know," Mulder gave another quick smile. "I know." 
The smile faded, abruptly replaced by a questioning look as he 
leaned in closer to the shorter vampire. 
	"How did you know where to find me?"
	Jason reached out an elegant, gloveless hand to touch 
just below Mulder's chin. The heavy, upturned collar of the 
overcoat inhibited him from reaching the spot he was aiming for, 
the two tiny red marks resting just above the throbbing jugular 
vein in Mulder's throat. 
	"I can always find you, for we are linked."
	Mulder drew in a quick gasp of air and then another. His 
pulse raced as he met Jason's bright green eyes, still clear of the 
red taint signifying vampiric hunger. "Linked? But how?"
	Jason simply shrugged. "It is hard to explain. I can 
simply feel your presence, as I can that of Lady Dana. Of course, 
it fades with distance, the further away you are, the harder you 
are to find. But within the city I can usually locate you without 
trouble."
	Mulder's thoughts tumbled over the implications of that 
revelation. How much of him could Jason sense? How much of 
his mind could he read?
	"Not much," Jason answered the unspoken question. 
Mulder jerked in response. Jason smiled warmly.
	"That particular question was not hard to divine, 
Mulder. And the answer is that I can pick up the surface thoughts 
from anyone in close proximity to me, though it requires 
considerable effort. At a distance, I can feel no more than the 
strongest of emotions, and those only from you and Scully. And 
that, simply because," he added delicately, "we have been joined."
	Mulder nodded. After all they had been through 
together, Jason fell into that rare and special category of people 
Mulder trusted completely. In fact, that select group was a 
company of two. So there was no reason not to accept Jason's 
word. Besides, he was already seeing the upside to this particular 
facet of Jason's 'condition.' If Jason could psychically find either 
Mulder or Scully, that could prove very helpful if, God forbid, 
either fell prey to their enemies again.
	Mulder swallowed hard, trying to shut away that 
thought and the extremely painful memories it carried with it. 
Silent for a long moment, he took one last look around the 
cemetery, then turned back to his friend.
	"I should get back to headquarters before Scully really 
does get concerned. Jason...would you come with me? I think it 
might help if the three of us talked about this. Whatever sense 
you have for this killer, it's more than we've had up to now."
	Jason nodded gravely. "I would be glad to help as best I 
can."
	Together they turned and strode away, the gently falling 
snow covering their footsteps, leaving no trace that they had been 
there at all.
					 - - - - -

	She scowled as she remained crouched behind the heavy 
stone, hidden from their view. The scent of the man she desired 
was masked by the smell of the other - the one who reeked of 
death. That in itself would hardly have bothered her, for she was 
familiar and comfortable with the taste of human death, rather it 
was the age of that death which disturbed her. The thin, pale 
figure, lightly cloaked even in the cold of the winter storm, 
exuded the scent of ancient death, of the dark, cold grave itself. 
He was walking death, not alive, yet moving, speaking...
	She shivered, drawing her forearms tight against her 
chest. This was wrong, wrong, the blood scent was skewed and 
tainted. Her hunger twisted into nausea, and she felt a quick jolt 
of fear. That *thing* should not exist in her world. It was not 
alive, not dead, and she did not know how to respond. Humans 
were food or enemies, and the ones she fed upon stayed dead. 
	Her nose twitched as she hesitated, watched the man 
talk to the non-dead creature, then turn and walk away towards 
the road. The two shapes moved smoothly together, with the 
ease of long-familiarity, forcing her to give up any desire of 
claiming the man for herself. He was too linked to the other, too 
contaminated by its closeness. But as distance grew between the 
strange intruder and herself, the fear faded. In its place the 
hunger and the thwarted sexual desire rose even more demanding 
than before.
	Instincts as old as life itself took total control, and she 
turned her head into the wind. Sniffing at the cold air, she leapt 
up out of the shadows and raced off in the opposite direction 
from that chosen by the two she had been watching.  A predator 
on the hunt.
					- - - - -

	Scully looked up with open relief as Mulder stepped 
through the half-open door.
	"Where have you been?" she asked, tucking a stray red 
curl behind her right ear.
	"Investigating," he replied mildly, shrugging out of his 
coat. She half-smiled, half-grimaced at his obtuse response, but 
before she could speak, he interrupted. 
	"I brought a visitor." A shorter figure took his place in 
the spot where the fluorescent lights spilled out into a dark 
hallway. Framed in that window was a thin, pale man with 
shoulder-length, golden hair. Bright gray-green eyes glittered 
above high cheekbones across which stretched pure, almost 
translucent ivory skin. 
	"Jason," Scully breathed his name in surprise, then leapt 
up out of her seat, her face coming alive with pleasure. Yanking 
the glasses off her nose, she dropped them onto the desk, then 
reached out to the visitor with both hands.
	He smiled, a gesture of sudden warmth, and took both 
her hands in his. Drawing her close, he placed a gentle kiss on her 
forehead, then released her.  She held onto the cold grasp of his 
hands for a moment longer, then reluctantly let him go. Turning 
to Mulder, she let her eyes ask the question.
	Mulder had already dropped his lanky body into his 
chair, his coat left in a damp pile on the desk. He leaned back, 
meeting her gaze calmly.
	"I wanted to take another look at the crime scenes." He 
shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I hoped I might find something." 
His hands threaded the air, then stilled as his eyes focused on the 
other man. "Jason found me at the cemetery. It seems he has 
some sense of our killer, so I asked him to give us a hand."
	"Sense of the killer? You don't think?"
	"That the killer is a vampire?" Mulder completed his 
partner's sentence for her, gaining a nod of her head in 
affirmation, though her eyes were sharp and skeptical. He smiled 
wryly.
	"No. There's too much blood left behind at the crime 
scenes. Also, vampires don't usually eat the flesh itself." He 
glanced at the still silent Jason, and received a grim nod in 
response. Scully noted the confirmation too, her eyes darting 
from one face to the other.
	Mulder continued, speaking softly, almost as though he 
were simply thinking aloud. "This isn't the work of a vampire, but 
I'm not sure the killer is completely...human." He finished 
abruptly, frowning at the lack of the proper words to illustrate 
the feeling these crime scenes had evoked in him.
	"Mulder..." Scully began, but Mulder waved his hand, 
slicing the air swiftly.
	"No, I don't mean something alien. And I'm not even 
sure I mean a human mutant like Tooms. I think..." He paused, 
searching for the words. Jason found them for him, and his voice, 
his odd accent as soft as silk on their ears, took them both by 
surprise.
	"An animal, yet not an animal." The small, elegant 
vampire frowned, creating a web of tiny lines in the skin around 
his eyes. "It smells like a wolf, almost, yet it is also human. 
Almost as though it was a hybrid of the two."
	Mulder jerked up in his seat, his entire body coming 
alert. Hazel eyes flashed as he focused on Scully. Instinctively, 
she braced herself, putting a hand up between them as she 
attempted to forestall him.
	"Mulder..."
	But he was racing ahead. "That's what felt 
so...familiar...about the crime scenes. It's just like that case in 
Montana, Scully. The Manitou, it's got to be."
	"Mulder, that was never conclusively proven. And even 
if you were right, what would it be doing here in Washington, 
DC of all places? Besides, Lyle Parker is dead."
	"I know, but it could be someone else. The girl maybe, 
it was supposed to run in families. And she was determined to 
leave the reservation after her brother's death. Maybe she moved 
here and it finally came out in her."
	"You're reaching, Mulder. This is far more likely to be 
just what it looks like - a perfectly *human* monster with a taste 
for human blood."
	Mulder leaned back in his chair, obviously unconvinced, 
but he let it pass. "Perhaps..."
	Jason had taken in the conversation quietly, now he 
broke in with open curiosity. "What is a Manitou?"
	"A werewolf, basically." Scully replied, arching a 
coppery eyebrow at Mulder. He smiled, then gave a more 
detailed explanation. Jason listened intently to the tale of the 
weird events that had taken place on the Trego Indian 
Reservation a couple of years previously. When Mulder was 
done, the ancient vampire moved soundlessly to sit on the edge 
of the desk.
	"I know little of the American West, or of the 
indigenous cultures here, since I only came to this country in this 
century. There were rumors of such things in Europe, especially 
in the Alps, but I never paid them much mind. The stories about 
my kind were so obviously exaggerated and twisted that I figured 
the same was true of the other legends. I guess I accepted that 
there might be a grain of truth to them, but..."
	"You've never come across a werewolf?"
	Jason smiled affectionately at the open curiosity in 
Mulder's voice. "No. It appears that in this case, you have far 
more experience than I."
	Mulder returned the smile, then his features froze. 
"Unfortunately, that is only enough knowledge to confirm that 
we've got a serious problem."
	That calm assessment startled Scully into remembering 
why she had been looking for her partner in the first place. 
"Mulder," she interrupted, causing both men to stare at her as she 
spoke.
	"It might be more serious than you realize. I've made a 
first exam of the bodies and fragments found at the last crime 
scene, and something is missing."
	"What?" Mulder leaned over the desk, resting his palms 
face down on the scratched, grainy wood.
	"The daughter." Scully told him sadly. "I can't find any 
trace of her.

------------------------
End Part 1
------------------------

===========================================================================

From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com(Jennifer Lyon)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: "Night Hunter" (R) 2/5
Date: 2 Mar 1996 17:33:01 GMT


Night Hunter  (rated "R")
An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon
Jenni10647@aol.com, jennyann@ix.netcom.com

Disclaimer and Author's Note: Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and the 
X-Files belong to Chris Carter and FOX Network. The remainder 
of this story is mine. This story is the fifth in a series, the first 
four are "Promises to Keep", "Vampire's Kiss", "Interlude with a 
Vampire", and "Vampire's Ball." These stories all assume that a 
love/sexual relationship already exists between Mulder and 
Scully, and on occasion includes the vampire Jason as well. I 
have tried to work the stories around events taking place in the 
episodes as best I can, but the stories should be read as a timeline 
all their own. All four previous stories are available at the 
Gossamer archive or by emailing me. One final note: I'm rating 
this story "R" for violence and sex. 

Part Two


	She smelled him before she saw him. The stench of 
alcohol wafted on the breeze, making her nose twitch with 
disgust. She halted, but the need rose in her like a red tide, 
bursting across her conscious mind, burying all thought but the 
hunger itself. Then she saw him, staggering down the street, his 
breath foaming into the cold air in gusts of fog.
	Now she could smell the scent of his flesh below the 
alcohol, the sweaty masculinity flavored by the promise of the 
blood swirling beneath. Saliva pooled in her cheeks, even as she 
felt another, thwarted desire rage within her groin. He was not 
the one she had chosen, but she was too desperate to wait, too 
frightened of the non-dead creature that had stolen the one she 
preferred.
	Growling with frustration, she poised herself in the 
shadowed corner, waiting for the drunk to come closer, 
closer...until finally he was only a few feet from her. Unaware of 
her, he staggered against the building, gasping for breath, then 
pushing himself onward.
	In one graceful, silent motion, she leapt up onto his 
back. He fell to the snow-covered ground with a soft thump, the 
sound muffled by the biting whistle of the wind. She grabbed his 
shoulders and shook him, yanking him around to face her. His 
eyes widened in shock, then his head twisted as he attempted to 
focus the bleary orbs on the impossibility straddling him.
	Long dark strands of hair wound around them both as 
she clawed at his clothing, easily tearing away the cloth from 
shrinking, reddened flesh. Grinding her hips against his, she 
sought the release that he was presently incapable of giving to 
her. Howling with anger, she drew bloody streaks across his face 
and chest, then arched her back upwards. Her face contorted as 
she screamed at the slowly receding moon, then began to shift 
and change.
	Even the cold and the alcohol was no longer enough 
protection from his situation, and fear slowly dawned in his 
bloodshot eyes as he watched her skin begin to ripple and tear. 
For one brief moment, two voices cried in unison, then both fell 
silent. Leaving only the careless whine of the wind and the quiet 
of the blanketing snow.
					- - - - -

	Mulder's hands were tight on the steering wheel as he 
guided the car up against the snow bank that lined the street. 
Beside him, Scully was quiet, but alert, her bright blue eyes 
focused on the empty darkness. In the back seat, Jason was a 
silent yet powerful presence. He had a disturbing ability to fade 
into seeming nothingness, yet he managed to radiate an almost 
electric force of personality when he choose to assert himself. For 
now, he was in his watching mode, a solid rock of support to the 
two human agents. He had rarely stirred himself to comment on 
events, instead, seemed willing to follow their lead.
	Unfortunately there hadn't been far for them to lead that 
night. Mulder had accepted Scully's assertion that Renata Torver 
had somehow escaped the blood bath in her home, but that only 
left him with an almost greater fear. Where was she? Could they 
possibly assume that she was still alive? It seemed unlikely under 
the circumstances. However, there was nothing to do but 
proceed on the chance that she might have escaped. 
	It had taken less than an hour to alert all the necessary 
authorities, but that had only been the beginning. Next, they had 
begun the round of phone calls, working late into the night, 
waking people out of their beds with questions that soon 
assumed the feeling of a nursery rhyme, repeated until they lost 
all meaning. The words had resolved into sounds strung together, 
a litany of syllables sung in desperation, falling on deaf ears.
	As night turned into the pre-dawn morning, Mulder's 
desperation had grown, until the walls had closed in on him so 
tightly he felt he couldn't breath. Grabbing for his coat, he had 
fled for the cold winter air, ignoring Jason and Scully as they 
tried to catch him. Perhaps only the fumbling of his frozen, 
ungloved hands for the icy metal of his keys had allowed them 
time to reach him - or perhaps Jason had put on a burst of 
supernatural speed. It didn't really matter. Jason had swept down 
to pick up the offending ring of keys from the snow and had 
silently opened the car door for Mulder.
	Just as quietly, Mulder had gotten in, then stretched out 
his hand, waiting. Jason had paused, then with almost a hint of a 
breathless sigh, had dropped the keys into those nearly numb 
fingers. In return, Mulder had waited for Jason and Scully, who 
had arrived panting and red-cheeked, to get into the car. 	
	Mulder drove that night with a strange mixture of 
control and abandon, ignoring the snow as it blanketed the roads 
and slicked their path, wandering the deserted streets in a pattern 
all his own. Full circle, they had come, and then half-around 
again, until finally they came to a stop on an empty side-street, 
lined with tall brick apartment buildings, rows of matching steps 
glistening in the moonlight.
	"It's nearly dawn," Jason observed, his whisper lancing 
over the sound of the idling engine.
	Scully had not said a word during the long, almost 
aimless drive, though her eyes had been full of meaning. Mulder 
had felt them boring into his skull, their knowledge of each other 
making the words unnecessary. Now, at last, she licked at her 
lips, then drew in a breath to speak.
	Mulder forestalled her. "Renata's probably gone to 
ground by now. It's cold, she will have had to seek shelter 
somewhere. But where?!" His eyes darted from house to house 
as though by some freak of nature one might somehow give him 
a sign, an answer.
	"Mulder, we're not going to find her tonight. If the killer 
doesn't have her, then she's in hiding. Maybe with a friend we 
don't know about, or perhaps she found a youth shelter of some 
kind. Or..."
	Scully's voice trailed off. There were a lot of 
possibilities, and they all knew well the dangers that awaited a 
sixteen year-old girl on the run. More than one predator would 
find her an easy target. 
	"It's cold." Mulder repeated, unable to shake the image 
of the young girl huddled in the snow somewhere, frozen, 
starving, terrified, and alone. Other faces flew across the edge of 
his mind, memories of victims, and one beautiful dark-haired 
child who would always haunt his nights.
	Scully reached over to touch him, and he instinctively 
jerked away. Then his head turned around towards her, and his 
eyes widened in recognition. He really hadn't even been aware 
she was there, she thought with a mixture of sadness and 
understanding, even as his eyes softened at the sight of her face.
	Reaching out again, she drew her hand through the dark 
strands of hair over his ear, then traced his jaw lightly. "Let's go 
home, Mulder. There's nothing more we can do tonight."
	He shook his head. "No. I have to keep looking. She's 
out there somewhere, I have to find her."
	"We'll find her. The police are looking too. Tomorrow 
we can organize a more thorough search, but driving randomly 
around Washington at night isn't going to do anyone any good. 
You won't be any help to her if you collapse from exhaustion. 
You need to sleep. We both do."
	Mulder shook his head again, stubbornly. His almost 
whispered, "No," was stubborn and insistent.
	Scully glanced to Jason, her eyes pleading, desperate. 
The vampire met her gaze, then reached forward to take hold of 
Mulder's arm.
	"Mulder, she's right. It's nearly dawn, and I must leave 
you until tomorrow night. There is much you can do in the 
daylight, but only if you are thinking straight. Go home. Sleep for 
a few hours, then start again. Perhaps a fresh outlook will 
provide an answer you cannot see now."
	Mulder stared from one to the other, trying hard not to 
shout at them. He wanted to scream that the need to keep going 
was so strong it was like an itch in his soul that couldn't be 
scratched unless he kept moving. He began to shake his head 
again, but Jason's hand tightened almost painfully on his arm.
	"Go home with Dana," Jason urged again. "Please."
	Mulder placed his hand over Jason's with a first thought 
at pushing him away, but something about the feel of the 
vampire's cool, porcelain skin made him pause. Instead he closed 
his fingers over the back of Jason's hand and suddenly he was 
holding on as if for dear life. His eyes turned a deep liquid brown 
as he tried to communicate without words the turmoil within.
	"I understand," Jason said with almost startling 
gentleness. With his other hand, he reached up to caress Mulder's 
cheek. "But for me, for Dana, at least try to rest for a few hours."
	Mulder stared from him to Scully, then back again. 
Swallowing the lump in his throat he nodded, then drew back. It 
was hard for him to admit to this particular pain, and even though 
he knew they both understood it - and him - all too well, that 
knowledge did not make this easier. He was used to feeling his 
pain in solitude, and found it embarrassing to share. He didn't 
want them to see this, especially not Scully.
	Nonetheless, he guided the car in the direction of Jason's 
home, his teeth aching with the pressure of holding in the 
emotions. When they reached the small house, set back in a 
wooded culdesac on the edge of a Virginia suburb, Mulder 
parked the car then sat staring out the window.
	Jason and Scully got out of the car, then stood together, 
staring through the windshield towards him. The weight of their 
regard finally broke through, and he shifted uncomfortably in his 
seat before giving in to the inevitable. Leaving the keys in the 
ignition, he left the vehicle and joined them in the driveway.
	Jason cast a quick glance at the eastern sky, realizing 
that his time was short. "Dana," he said, opening his arms to her. 
She didn't hesitate, almost throwing herself into his embrace. His 
arms tightened around her, pressing against him. "Take care of 
him," he whispered in her ear.
	"I will. Thank you." Her voice was barely audible, but 
his hearing was sensitive enough to catch them, and her emotion 
was as clear to him as the rising sun. Both beat at his senses in 
throbbing pulses.
	Rather than replying aloud, he placed long, delicate 
fingers under her chin and lifted her face towards him. Cupping 
her chin, he kissed her warmly, drawing in the taste and scent of 
her. Then he slowly withdrew, releasing her and turning towards 
the man watching them with shadowed eyes.
	Jason could move faster than a human eye could see 
when he chose, and though he did not exert quite that speed now, 
he still crossed those few feet before Mulder could realize it. The 
tall man drew in a deep gasp of surprise when he suddenly found 
himself staring directly down into the vampire's eyes.
	Jason grinned at the look of shock that flew across his 
loved one's face. That smile lightened his entire face, bringing an 
almost human cast to those unnaturally pale features. 
	"That wasn't funny," Mulder told him archly, even 
though his face had bleached to match the vampire's pallor.
	Behind them, Scully clasped a hand over her mouth, 
trying to still a giggle. Mulder threw Jason a stern look, but his 
everpresent sense of humor had, as usual, a talent for asserting 
itself at the most unlikely moments. The corners of his mouth 
curved upwards, just slightly, but it was enough to defuse some 
of the tension that had held his body in an iron grip.
	"I will find you tomorrow night," Jason promised. "Until 
I do, please be careful. This enemy is dangerous. It worries me. I 
wish..." He wished he was not trapped by the oncoming dawn 
into passing the long hours of the day lost in a death-like coma. 
He wished he could be there to assure their safety through the 
day as well as the night, but he knew he could not.
	"You'd better get going," Mulder told him, letting the 
unspoken remain as such. Jason nodded, then reached up to 
frame Mulder's face in his hands. Drawing him down, he pressed 
a kiss onto each of Mulder's cheeks, then just as abruptly, he 
pulled away and disappeared into the house. The door shut 
behind him, the edges sealed with black rubber against the 
intrusion of the light. Mulder and Scully stood in the pre-dawn 
cold for a few breaths, then got back into the car and drove 
away.
					- - - - -

	Both were silent on the long drive to Scully's apartment, 
and once there, they both hesitated. The air between them was 
thick with emotion. 
	Scully glanced at him, her hands tensed in her lap. He 
turned to face her, and the anguish in his eyes made her stomach 
flip over. He was rigid, mouth drawn tight, as though braced for 
an oncoming blow. Yet, all she wanted to do, all she had ever 
wanted to do, was to wrap her arms around him and tell him how 
much she loved him.. 
	A small touch of anger rose inside her. Damn him - he 
could be so infuriating! He either held it all in, closing out the 
world and her along with it, or he drew the weight of the entire 
world onto his own shoulders and obstinately refused to share the 
burden with anyone else. Why couldn't he understand that she 
wanted, needed, to take half of it? That sharing his pain was as 
much a part of loving him as enjoying the warmth of his smile or 
the bite of his mind?
	If only... But what was the use of wishing for the 
impossible? And did she really want him to change? Heaven help 
her, she'd fallen in love with the man that he was, the 
contradictory, impossible complication that was Fox Mulder. 
Paranoid one moment, wide-eyed in wonder the next, he was 
never dull, never slow, never ordinary. Life with him would never 
stand still, it was a roller coaster ride, and even at the moments 
she thought she couldn't hold on any longer, somehow he'd 
manage to be there to gather her up into the strength of his arms 
and bring her back safely to the ground. 
	She sighed under her breath, met his gaze firmly, and 
decided she wouldn't have him any other way than as he was. 
Reaching out to lightly brush her fingertips across his cheeks, she 
offered him the choice.
	"Are you coming inside?"
	The sound of her voice, soft and throaty, made his groin 
tense. His breath caught in his throat as he studied her, watching 
intently as the faint gleam of the dawn made her hair shimmer 
with orange highlights. It framed her face like woven fire, 
bringing a blush to her fair skin and making her eyes seem even 
larger, bluer, brighter than ever. God, she was beautiful, and he 
wanted her desperately.
	He took one small wayward curl between his thumb and 
forefinger, let it slide away, then he returned her gesture, cupping 
her cheek with his palm. Her face lifted up towards him, then 
turned to the side, nuzzling into his hand.  
	So much had happened, the losses, the deaths, the cases 
that had raked each of them over the depths of their own deepest 
beliefs and fears, it amazed him that they were still here - still 
together. But somehow they had come past all that. Even as they 
faltered on the edge of the precipice, the differences in their 
beliefs threatening to tear them apart, it had been a simpler belief 
that had saved them. In the end, it was their faith in each other, 
and in the love that they shared, that had carried them through. 
Would it always be enough? He didn't know, but for now, it was 
all that mattered.
	Leaning towards her, he whispered, "Yes," in the same 
movement brushing her lips with his in a surprisingly chaste, yet 
tantalizingly sweet caress. 
	Then releasing her, he got swiftly out of the car, and 
when he met up with her on the sidewalk,  silently closed his 
fingers around hers. She grasped onto him tightly, and with only 
a hint of a smile, she led him out of the cold and into the warmth.
					- - - - -

	It had been a while since they had made love, and that 
lost time made this all the more urgent, all the more precious. 
Mulder was slow in removing her clothes, turning the task into an 
erotic ritual, dropping soft kisses onto every inch of skin he 
exposed. She tangled her fingers into the dark strands of his hair, 
drawing him even closer.
	He paused, his eyes glittering like twin emeralds as he 
freed her breasts from the lacy bra. Kneeling at her feet, he 
cupped the rich mounds in his hands, then slowly drew his 
thumbs across the rosy, already distended tips. She hummed deep 
in her throat, leaning against him for support, her hands clenching 
at the muscles of his shoulders as he quickened his caresses.
	A soft murmured entreaty from her urged him onwards, 
and he satisfied her swiftly, wrapping his lips around one breast 
and suckling hard. He teased with his tongue, then assaulted her 
with his teeth, sending shock waves down her spine. She clasped 
him to her, digging one hand into his hair, clenching the other on 
his shoulder. A low hoarse cry escaped her lips, rising into a cry 
of dismay when he lifted his head to gaze up into her face. 
	He chuckled lightly under his breath, then pulled her 
down until she was sitting across his knees, her legs spread out 
wide around his. Claiming her mouth, he kissed her long and 
deep, stealing the very air from her lungs. She gave it willingly, 
playing the sensitive tip of her tongue across his lips, his teeth, 
then teasing at his tongue before withdrawing. He followed her, 
ravishing the inside of her mouth with long hard strokes, until she 
felt as though she was melting around him.
	When he let them both gasp for breath, all she could 
utter was a soft groan. He answered with another passionate kiss 
before propelling them both to their feet. Sweeping her up in his 
arms, he placed her gently down on the bed, then finished 
removing the last barriers of her clothing. When he was done, he 
lifted up her right foot and tenderly licked at her ankle, surprising 
her with the sensitivity of her own skin in that spot just below the 
protruding bone. 
	He worked his way up her legs, nibbled at her belly, 
then came down full across her, settling his weight upon her. She 
sank down into the mattress, curling both her arms and legs up 
around him. Wriggling against him, she stole a sweet erotic 
delight in the sensation of her bare skin rubbing against the fabric 
of his clothes. It was a surprisingly decadent, luxurious feeling, 
being naked in the arms of fully clothed man, the evidence of his 
desire vivid in his eyes and tensed muscles, and she could not 
resist the resulting rush of joyous self-satisfaction. Purring, she 
rubbed her thighs over the taut muscles of his buttocks, cradled 
the hard presence of him against her belly, took unabashed 
delight in the throbbing bulge that strained against the confines of 
his pants.
	"Daaaana," he whispered, drawing out the sound of her 
name in that rich, deep voice of his. The tone, sultry and hoarse 
with need, sent small tremors though her body, arousing her even 
more than the tender bite of his teeth on the skin of her neck. 
Digging her fingers into the bunched muscles of his upper back, 
she clasped him tightly against her, where he belonged, where she 
had always known he should be. She nuzzled her lips against his 
cheek, then drew him down into a fierce kiss, throwing all her 
need and love and desire into it, kissing him as though by doing 
so she could meld him permanently into her.
	He responded passionately, then drew away only to 
shower her face, cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, eyes with a quick 
succession of kisses. Then he stopped, and framing her face with 
his palms, he looked deeply into her eyes and opened his mouth 
to speak.
	"Shhh," she pressed her fingers against his lips stilling 
him. His eyes asked the question, and she gave him one of her 
rare, total smiles, the one that always made him feel as though the 
sun had just burst through the clouds. "I know," she whispered. 
"Me too."
	Her ability to see so deeply into him had often rocked 
him to his very core, and this was no exception. Sometimes, it 
frightened him so much that he wanted to scurry back into his 
shell like a startled turtle. But other times, like this one, her 
understanding stole his breath away with the sheer intensity of the 
love he felt for her, the love he felt from her. His lungs 
constricted, and his eyes glittered with unshed tears.
	"I love you," he told her, his voice clear in its utter 
sincerity, then he lifted her head upwards, supporting her neck 
with his clasped fingers, and reclaimed her lips with his. Her heart 
soared, even as her body tingled in response. 'I love you' her mind 
shouted, but she didn't need to say it aloud, even when he freed 
her mouth and settled back to let her divest him of his clothes. 
Instead, she told him with her hands and lips and the welcoming 
invitation of her body as she drew him down into her, then held 
him there, rocking her body against his, until at last, she joined 
him in the blazing ecstasy of their fusion.
					- - - - -

	She knew the way without thinking, her actions based 
solely on instinctual familiarity. Press the corner of the small 
window just so, then a quick yank upwards, it hardly took any of 
her strength to get the dingy glass pane open far enough to allow 
her access. Wriggling inside, she barely remembered to shut the 
opening behind her, then she was racing up the basement stairs.
	Her eyes were still glowing a vivid, iridescent yellow as 
she found her way instinctively through the empty house, walking 
the bleak, dim length of the hall without a single misstep. A few 
more steps, through a half-open door, and then she gave way. 
Limbs and torso rippling, she flowed down to the plush rug and 
curled up in a ball. Laying on her side, she drew her knees up 
against her chest, and began to rock back and forth, an eerie hiss 
emanating from her lips. Her hair flowed loose around her, 
covering her in an ebony blanket while a few stray moonbeams 
filtered through the whispy curtains, twined with the shadows 
and teased at the edges of her awareness. Twisting around, she 
followed them back to their source, the fluorescent gleam in her 
eyes intensifying, then abruptly fading. As the light in her gaze 
faded to dull blackness, she writhed on the floor, tossing her 
head, limbs tumbling, spine vibrating. Then just as suddenly as it 
had begun, the motion stopped. 
	As the moonlight slowly gave way to the red hint of 
dawn, only the faint whisper of her breath signified the life still 
burning in the body sprawled awkwardly on the floor.
				- - - - -

	Mulder shifted in his sleep, reaching one hand up to 
swat at the insect buzzing in his ear. His arm flew through the air, 
then hit hard against the metal bedframe, jerking him awake. 
	"Wwwwhat?" he muttered, pulling himself into a half-
seated position. A weight across his chest shifted, then wriggled 
closer to him, and the startled expression in his eyes gave way to 
unconcealed tenderness. He tightened the arm still closed around 
her shoulders, then turned his head in response to another 
insistent buzz.
	The phone. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he 
automatically picked up the receiver and placed it against his ear. 
Before he could speak, an officious female voice demanded in his 
ear, "Agent Scully?"
	Dropping the phone away from his mouth instantly, he 
nudged the woman still sleeping in his lap. He couldn't afford to 
make a sound to wake her, instead he shook her as gently, but 
urgently as he could. Her head moved and she shifted in place, 
then lifted her head to look up at him, a sweet smile on her lips as 
she began to speak.
	He shushed her with a quick shake of his head, then held 
the phone receiver where she could see it. Her eyes widened, and 
she sat up immediately, brushing the wing of auburn hair out of 
her eyes. When she was ready, she took the phone from his hand 
and spoke crisply into it, "Scully."
	He placed his hands around her waist, and leaned his 
face in against her shoulder. She tilted the phone just slightly so 
that he could hear the words spoken urgently into her ear, even 
as she responded briskly.
	"Yes, I understand. Where? OK, I'm on my way. No." 
she turned to quickly meet his eyes, then spoke rapidly into the 
phone. "I'll notify Agent Mulder. He's probably just ... in the 
shower or something. I'll call him. Yes, we'll be there as soon as 
possible. Thank you."
	She clicked off the receiver and twisted in his grasp so 
that they were facing each other. The earlier glow was gone, 
leaving a grim tautness. Mulder's generous mouth thinned as he 
met her wide blue eyes.
	"Another one?" he asked, not really needing it 
confirmed. She nodded, then reached up to caress his cheek. 
	"We'd better get going." She disentangled herself from 
him and the sheets, and he followed, all conversation lost as they 
each prepared themselves for the horror to come.

--------------------
End Part Two
--------------------

===========================================================================

From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com(Jennifer Lyon)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: "Night Hunter" (R) 3/5
Date: 2 Mar 1996 17:34:30 GMT


Night Hunter  (rated "R")
An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon
Jenni10647@aol.com, jennyann@ix.netcom.com

Disclaimer and Author's Note: Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and the 
X-Files belong to Chris Carter and FOX Network. The remainder 
of this story is mine. This story is the fifth in a series, the first 
four are "Promises to Keep", "Vampire's Kiss", "Interlude with a 
Vampire", and "Vampire's Ball." These stories all assume that a 
love/sexual relationship already exists between Mulder and 
Scully, and on occasion includes the vampire Jason as well. I 
have tried to work the stories around events taking place in the 
episodes as best I can, but the stories should be read as a timeline 
all their own. All four previous stories are available at the 
Gossamer archive or by emailing me. One final note: I'm rating 
this story "R" for violence and sex. 

Part Three

	The body lay in a deep white pillow of snow, the tiny 
intricate crystals stained a bright, bloody crimson. Mulder's first 
thought was randomly, absently, of a strawberry snow-cone he 
had eaten as a child, his second was the painful awareness of his 
stomach cramping within the thin confines of his abdomen.
	"Are you all right?" Scully whispered just loud enough 
for him to hear, and he glanced, startled, at her, then gave a brief 
jerk of his head in response.
	"Yeah," he muttered, plunging his gloved hands into the 
pockets of his overcoat, tightening the fingers into fists in the 
vain hope they might somehow be warmer that way. 
	Scully watched him for a millisecond longer, then turned 
back to the corpse at her feet, her mind switching automatically 
into professional mode. It was like a shield slipping into place, 
depersonalizing the situation so that she could cope with it, 
leaving the emotional repercussions for later. Perhaps not the 
healthiest of behaviors, but it allowed her to get the job done. 
And in the end, catching the murderer before he killed again was 
the best that she could do for the victim - and for herself as well.
	Kneeling down in the snow, careful to stay out of range 
of the frozen red stain, she began a quick, but thorough 
examination. Each point was recited in her mind, much as she 
would do in a report. Note the look of terror in the eyes, wide 
open and staring blindly upwards. Note the ice crystals dotting 
the edge of each wound, the way the torn flesh had kept its pink 
color, like meat in a freezer. Note the crisscross pattern of slashes 
across the flesh of the face, the hands and wrists, the bared chest, 
and the flaps of ripped cloth wavering slightly in the wind. Note 
the open bowels, streams of frozen entrails drawn out as though 
someone had dug their hands into his abdomen, lifted up the 
contents, then let them dribble down through open fingers - while 
taking a few deep bites...
	Mulder watched her work, his eyes darting back and 
forth from the gory scene to her red-crowned head, finding 
solace in the sight of her cold-reddened face intent and focused 
on the task at hand. Those generous, rosy lips were pursed 
together, each precious breath whistling out between them in a 
white fog of moisture. His fingers twitched with the desire to 
touch her, but he restrained the impulse, instead hunching his 
shoulders against the cold and focusing in on the long day's work 
ahead.
	"What've you got?" he asked the city detective who was 
standing beside him, uneasily shifting from one foot to the other, 
creating two large sink holes in the snow. Several inches shorter 
than the tall lanky federal agent, the brown-coated officer sported 
a large bushy mustache and a pair of incongruous wire-framed 
glasses.
	"Umm, a waitress found the body on her way to work. 
Literally stumbled over it." The detective cleared his throat, 
fumbling through his notepad with chill-cramped fingers. "Name 
of Gladys Kowcheski. Works at the diner on the corner." A 
broad arm waved negligently to their right.
	Mulder nodded encouragement, though he only gained a 
cold shrug in response. "Anyway,  when she saw the arm sticking 
up out of the snow bank, she took off screaming into the diner. 
We cordoned off the area as soon as we got here, but left the 
digging out for the ME's and techs. With the storm and all, 
though, I doubt there was much traffic through here last night. 
Still I've got officers doing a door-to-door around here."
	"Where is Gladys now?"
	"Still in the diner. My partner's taking her statement - 
not that it will be of much help. She's pretty hysterical."
	Mulder grimaced. Even if she had been calm, there was 
probably little useful information to be gained.
	"You want to talk to her?" The detective spoke 
grudgingly, allowing the feds the choice, since it had turned out 
to be their case, but still protective of his turf.
	Mulder shook his head. "I'm sure you can handle it, 
though I'd appreciate it if you'd forward us a copy of the report. 
And of the interviews with the locals." He waved his hand in the 
air generally, and received a tight nod in reply.
	Mulder let his breath expel in a wet mist, feeling it turn 
to ice even as it escaped his lips. "Found any ID on the victim?"
	"Naah," the detective's expression turned both mournful 
and resigned. "From the smell of him, I'd guess he was just a 
wandering drunk. Probably homeless. We always find a few 
frozen to death when the weather gets bad." He paused, his eyes 
screwing tight behind the thick panes of his glasses as he glanced 
towards the bodies. "But not many like this. He looks like some 
animal got to him."
	Only someone who knew Mulder well would see the 
emotion behind the staunchly professional, deadpan facade. 
Scully would have instantly noted the tick in his jaw, the way his 
brows narrowed just slightly over his eyes, the bare tilt of his 
head, but the city cop saw only the hard surface and never would 
have thought to look for more. Mulder blanked his revulsion 
almost instantly, and only gave a slow, easy nod.
	"Yeah - you could say that."
	"Something got loose from the zoo?" The cop threw the 
question out, grasping for the easy explanation. 
	"No." Mulder's negative was abrupt, and definite, yet 
rather absentminded. Scully stepped up beside them, and his 
attention was immediately focused on her.
	"It's the same killer, Mulder. I won't have more definite 
information until I do the autopsy, but I'm sure the same person is 
responsible." Scully bit at her lip, her eyes glowing a deep, dark 
blue, full of anxiety  and a small element of uncertainty. Her 
partner met her gaze openly, but waited patiently for her to 
continue.
	"Mulder, there are some differences between this and 
the other murders. First, the body is in much better shape. That's 
why we have discernible bite-marks; the other bodies were far 
too mangled to get a clear set. It could be that the killer was 
interrupted in the act, but that's only a guess. However, this does 
mean we've got the first real physical evidence on our perp, and 
more than that - this victim managed to get his hands onto his 
killer before he died. I *may* get a skin sample from under the 
finger nails, and I definitely found several strands of long, black 
hair. If we're lucky, we might get a DNA sample from the roots." 
	She paused, grimacing, then added quickly, "There's 
something else, Mulder. It appears as though this victim was 
sexually assaulted. The genitals are bruised and scratched, and 
while it is obvious the victim never ejaculated, there is some 
creamy residue on the skin. It is possible that the killer ejaculated, 
I won't know for sure until the lab results come in. Or it could 
be..." She paused, 
	Mulder nearly groaned in frustration, she had a tendency 
to hedge her bets, to not make assertions without the supporting 
facts laid out in clear, logical order. It was both her greatest 
strength, and her greatest weakness. He cocked his head 
sideways at her, fighting to contain his impatience while she 
replayed the evidence in her mind.
	"I think," she finally said, "that we might have a female 
serial killer on our hands."
	"Female?" The cop broke in incredulously. "A woman 
did THAT?" He shook his head, then whistled though his front 
teeth. "Then again, after the stuff I've seen on this job I don't 
know why it should surprise me. Why not? Just chalk up another 
victory for equal opportunity."
	Mulder grinned wryly, then turned serious when Scully 
threw him a daggered look.
	"Yeah, well, it might explain a few things. Like how 
'she' got into the Torver house without a sign of forced entry. 
People are less likely to be suspicious of a strange woman than a 
man."
	"And it would explain the size of the bite marks. I'll have 
to take casts of them and get a specialist's opinion, but they look 
far too small to be those of an adult male. A teenage male - 
maybe, and there are some that are larger and deeper. I suppose 
there could be two different sets, but all other evidence suggests 
just one perpetrator." 
	"Better not jump to any conclusions either way until you 
get the autopsy done and those lab reports back," Mulder said, 
making a face at Scully when she arched an eyebrow at him in 
mock-surprise. She angled her head to the side to hide her smile 
while Mulder flashed his teeth at her, then resumed a serious 
expression as he turned to the cop. "Are your people finished 
with the crime scene?"
	The cop shouted over at a couple of the technicians 
hovering over the feet of the body, and got a thumbs up sign in 
return. A quick glance assured him that the police photographer 
was already packing his equipment up into the back of a small 
van, so he jerked his head back towards the waiting agents.
	"Yeah - we're done here. I'll get the report done 
sometime today and fax it over to you at the Bureau."
	"Good, thanks," Mulder replied. He met Scully's eyes, 
communicating silently, instantly, then she moved away with 
careful delicate steps, gesturing at the waiting techs to start 
bagging the body in the inevitable black plastic.
	Mulder shook hands briefly with the cop, watched him 
wander across the street towards the brightly-lit warmth of the 
corner restaurant, then shrugged his shoulders inwards, unable to 
stop a shiver from racing down his spine. This shudder was not a 
response to the cold, it was an inner tremor, an instinctive jolt of 
intuition that told him more definitely than any of Scully's 
evidence could have, that his partner's supposition was indeed 
correct.
	This was a female serial killer, an anomaly among the 
breed, if growing less so daily - and one whose unknown face 
seemed to hover at the edges of his vision. His dark-gloved hand 
pressed against his chest, fingers spreading out over the pocket 
where Renata Torver's photo lay still against his heart. Long 
black hair? Female? Panic rose sharply in his throat and he forced 
it down with an iron exercise of will. Surely not, it just couldn't 
be. It...just...could...not...be...
					- - - - -

	Brushing the snow off his coat sleeves, Mulder looked 
down as the door swung open and he found himself facing a 
slightly plump middle-aged woman. Her soft brown hair was 
gathered up into a shiny metal barrette just off center on the top 
of her head. Matching brown eyes stared suspiciously up at him, 
the top of her head barely hitting the middle of his chest. Fighting 
the urge to stoop down, he reached into his coat pocket with his 
left hand and drew out his ID.
	Flipping the small black folder open, he displayed the 
photo and badge. "Mrs. Conley? I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, 
Federal Bureau of Investigation."
	Those wide, chocolate eyes widened in surprise, then 
sharpened. "FBI? What is this about?"
	"I'm investigating the murder of Charles and Carla 
Torver at 153 N. Pines Ave. and the disappearance of their 
daughter Renata. I was told your daughter, Lisa, was Renata's 
best friend."
	"They were friends," she allowed grudgingly, "but they 
haven't been close for weeks."
	"Yes, I've heard that from some of their classmates. 
Still, Lisa is supposed to have known Renata better than anyone 
else. I would greatly appreciate it if I could speak with her. Of 
course, you will sit in on the interview."
	She hesitated, obviously unwilling to allow him 
entrance, but he held his ground. Keeping the badge displayed at 
a level with her eyes, he edged closer to the open doorway. She 
studied him for a tense moment, letting her eyes openly wander 
from his snow-covered feet up the expanse of his long, lean legs 
to his snow-dusted chest and then finally to his face. Something 
there must have stilled her fears, perhaps the gentle sadness in his 
eyes.
	Stepping backwards, she gestured for him to follow her 
into the warmth of the house. It was simply furnished, everything 
clean and well-tended, though slightly worn. There was a definite 
lived-in feeling, little fragments of family life scattered here and 
there, a child's toy precariously perched on the edge of a stair, a 
wool sweater tossed haphazardly over the banister, a half-empty 
glass of brown liquid on the table by the couch. Mulder felt that 
sense of comfort keenly, the absence of it within in own 
childhood was a dull ache in the pit of his stomach.
	"Lisa, what have I told you about eating in the living 
room!" Mrs. Conley scolded, taking comfort in the familiar 
argument.
	"Sorry mom," came a muffled voice from the 
neighborhood of the couch. A mop of brown hair peeked up over 
the edge of the sofa arm, then abruptly jerked upwards. There 
was the sound of rapid swallowing, then the voice piped out 
more clearly, "Who's he?" 
	Mrs. Conley sighed, moving around to glare fondly at 
her eldest child. "He's from the FBI. Agent Mulder would like to 
ask you about Renata."
	Mulder followed the woman around, then stood behind 
her staring down at thinner version of the mother. The brown hair 
was longer, spreading in loose waves around an oval face 
dominated by the same pair of big, brown eyes. 
	"COOL!" the girl exclaimed, pulling her legs up under 
her and belatedly trying to straighten her hair. She gave Mulder a 
heart-stopping smile, then gestured for him to sit beside her on 
the couch. Stealing a quick glance at Mrs. Conley, he gingerly 
took the seat, trying to stay on the far end of the suddenly too 
small piece of furniture.
	Ignoring her mother's frown, Lisa scooted a little closer 
to him. "So you're investigating the murder of Rena's folks."
	He nodded. "Yes..."
	"I heard they were, like, eaten." Her face screwed up, 
but her eyes were bright and focused intently on his face. 
Unwilling to lie to her, but not ready to elaborate, he simply 
nodded.
	"EEEEWWW," she exclaimed, gaining a sharp "Lisa" 
from her mother, but she ignored it, her attention focused solely 
on Mulder. "Do you think, I mean, no one seems to know if Rena 
was killed too." An quick flash of sadness crossed her face, 
deepening the color of her eyes. "I ... she was my friend, you 
know. And her folks really weren't bad people. Not very bright, 
but they meant well. Ohhh - this really is awful!"
	Her lips trembled, and Mulder found himself wishing he 
had waited until Scully had finished the autopsy and could have 
come with him. He hadn't the faintest idea how to cope with a 
sobbing teenage girl, especially one who, despite being upset, 
was staring at him in a decidedly hungry manner.
	"As far as we know, Renata was not killed. There is no 
sign of her in the house, so we're hoping she managed to escape. 
We're doing our best to find her, and that's why I'm here.  I talked 
to a few of your classmates and they said that you and she were 
best friends. Have you heard from her at all since last week?"	
	Lisa shrugged, though her eyes, nearly impossibly, 
seemed to widen further. "No. I saw her in school on Friday, but 
I haven't talked to her since. We had a falling out a few weeks 
back, so we're not close like we used to be."
	"What happened?" Mulder asked.
	Lisa tugged at her bottom lip with her front teeth. "It 
was stupid, really. In fact I can't even remember what set the 
fight off - something dumb about her clothes. It was just that 
Rena had been acting weird lately - well, she was always weird. 
But ever since her family's trip last summer, she's been even 
stranger than ever."
	"Trip?" Mulder straightened up in his seat, 
unconsciously leaning towards her. She smiled up at him, licking 
at her lips, then bobbed her head. "Yeah. They went on this 
cross-county car trip for almost a whole month. Saw the Grand 
Canyon and Mount Rushmore and stuff like that. Rena said 
seeing the stuff was cool, but spending days cooped up in the car 
with her parents was the most boring thing she'd ever done."
	"Do you know if they went to Montana?"
	Lisa gave him a curious look, but nodded. "Sure, they 
went skiing up there. Rena told me about it because it was odd to 
see snow in mid July."
	Rather than asking another question, Mulder waited for 
her to continue on her own, letting his silence drive her to fill in 
the emptiness. She stared at him for a long moment, then spoke 
again. "I think something happened to her on that trip, though 
she wouldn't talk about it. But she was a bit more, well, 'wild,' 
afterwards. Like, she took to sneaking out at night alone. 
Wandering around the neighborhood at one or two AM. I found 
out she was doing that by accident - couldn't sleep and saw her 
outside my window when I got up to get something to drink. 
Scared the daylights out of me, but she just laughed it off. Said it 
helped her think. I told her she should be more careful, but she 
just blew me off."
	Lisa frowned now, nibbling at her lower lip. "We used 
to talk about everything, but suddenly, she just shut me out. Oh, 
we hung out together after school and stuff, but sometimes when 
I was talking to her I'd realize she wasn't listening to me. She'd 
get this - spooky - look on her face, staring off into space, and 
when I'd try to get her attention or ask her about it, she'd get 
irritable or mean. By the time we actually had the big fight, it was 
as though she was a stranger to me. I didn't know her anymore."
	"Do you have any idea if she was doing drugs?" Mulder 
had to ask the question. He knew it was the first thing Scully 
would question, and he realized it was the most likely 
explanation. However, Lisa was already shaking her head 
vigorously.
	"No, I'm pretty sure she wasn't," the girl answered. She 
stared down at her hands, then looked back up at him, her eyes 
limpid with sincerity. "Rena was weird, but she was straight. I 
never once saw her doing any kind of drug, and...well, I know 
kids in school who do them sometimes..." She stole a quick 
glance at her mother who was watching her with obvious 
concern, then added in a fluid rush of words, "The druggies act 
differently than Rena ever did. She was always in control, almost 
too much in control. She got terribly cold, but she was always 
sober."
	Mulder phrased the next question slowly, carefully. "Did 
Rena ever get into fights with anyone, lose her temper or..."
	"Yeah. She did have quite a temper. It was short and 
quick, she usually got over it right away, but when she was mad 
you had to run for cover. Once she got into a cat-fight with this 
girl at school over something, and she managed to give the girl 
two black eyes before one of the teachers broke it up. But a day 
later, they had made up and were friends again."
	"Did she get angry more often after the trip?"
	Lisa considered this for a moment, then slowly nodded 
her head. "Yeah - she was really on edge, especially the last 
couple of weeks. She was - It was like a storm was coming, you 
know the feeling in the air just before a thunderstorm hits? That's 
the way it was around Rena. So when I heard about her 
parents..."
She broke off in mid-sentence, her eyes blinking like those of a 
startled deer. 	
	"When you heard about her parents..."
	"Well, I, unh, I..."
	"Did you think Rena might have had something to do 
with her parent's deaths?" Mulder prodded gently.
	"No, I mean, maybe, well... I can't believe she'd do 
something like that. How could she? But I couldn't help just 
thinking it, you know. But I'm sure she didn't." Her voice lilted 
on the end of her statement, almost forming it into a question. 
Mulder felt her eyes on him, begging for a reassurance that he 
couldn't deliver.
	Instead, he stood up and formally thanked her for her 
cooperation. Taking a business card out of his pocket, he handed 
it to Mrs. Conley. "If either of you think of anything that might 
be helpful, or if you are contacted by Rena, please call the 
number on that card. The Bureau will get a message to me 
twenty-four hours a day."
	Then he was again out in the snow, alone, walking as 
briskly as he could towards the putative shelter of his car. A 
quick glance at the sky told him that the day was waning fast. 
Night was falling, bringing the temperature down with it, and the 
engine sputtered and groaned in protest as he turned the key. It 
broke into life roughly, and he turned the heater on full blast 
while he waited for the car to warm up.
						- - - - -

	Scully wiped at her forehead with the back of her 
forearm, trying to get the edges of her bangs out of her eyes 
without touching herself with her blood-stained, plastic-gloved 
hands. Holding her arms at her sides, fingers splayed out in the 
air, she crossed over to the sink. The reflection in the glass 
surface of the cabinet door stared grimly back at her, making her 
wince at her own appearance.
	Stifling a sigh of weariness, she carefully stripped off the 
gloves, turning them in on themselves so that the gore-coated 
surfaces ended up on the inside, then tossing them into the bright 
orange biohazard bag to her left. The soap smelled of antiseptic, 
and the skin of her hands protested vehemently, constant 
washings making it dry and scaly. After a quick drying with a 
coarse paper towel, she coated her hands with the greasy 
moisturizing cream, and turned away from the sink.
	The body was still laid out on the examining table, and 
she left it there for the moment. Instead, still rubbing the cream 
into her skin, she walked past it to the small desk in the corner. 
Easing herself into the chair, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
	"Dana?" The voice was hesitant, but loud in the still air. 
Even over the hum of the refrigerator, it sounded clearly, jerking 
her up out of the momentary doze.
	Her eyes flew open, sharpened, then widened as they 
focused on the small man standing in the doorway.
	"Jason," she gave him one of her warmest smiles.
	He seemed unwilling to step deeper into the room, 
remaining framed in the doorway, the unremitting black of his 
overcoat underlining the sheer pallor of his skin. 
	"I came to see how things were going," he told her, his 
eyes darting from her face to the corpse laid out behind her and 
back again.
	She sighed, stepping up between him and the rest of the 
room. "There's been another death. I just finished the autopsy." 
She threw a glance behind her, then caught his eyes. 
	"Does it bother you?" she asked. He started at the 
question, instinctively drew back, then relaxed when he 
recognized the warmth and understanding in her vivid blue eyes.
	Shrugging his shoulders, he gave her a wry half-smile, 
then nodded. "I guess so." He stared intently into her face, then 
brought his hand up to follow his gaze. Cupping her cheek, he 
almost whispered, "I find it hard to believe that a woman such as 
you can do such things as this."
	She stiffened, then found herself smiling. "If anyone else 
had said that..."
	"I'm sorry if I offended you, my Lady," he said sincerely, 
"But as much as I try to accept the way things are now, I guess 
I'm still a child of my time. When I was alive, a woman of quality 
would have never deigned to dirty her hands, much less..." He 
waved at the room behind them.
	"I know. And in an odd sort of way your old-fashioned 
manners are very endearing." She leaned her cheek deeper into 
his hand, her lips curved slightly upward. "Believe me, there are 
times I wish I had chosen some other - any other - career." The 
sadness in her eyes struck him hard, and he instinctively reached 
out to draw her close.
	"Is there anything I can do?" he whispered against her 
ear.
	"No, I'm fine," she told him, though she took full 
advantage of the chance to lean into his inhuman strength. Then 
she pulled herself upright.
	"This case, though, it's disturbing." She smiled wryly. 
"Most of our cases are. But this one could be bad. I've found 
some evidence that indicates that the killer might not be what we 
thought 'he' was."
	"What do you mean?"
	Scully rubbed at the back of her neck, then met his 
patient gaze. "I think that our killer is a woman, and I'm afraid 
that it might just be the missing girl."
	"The girl?" Jason's throat worked, in a semblance of 
drawing in a deep breath. His eyes widened, the color turning 
smoky gray. "Are you sure?"
	Scully shrugged her shoulders, frowned, then nodded 
once, an abrupt jerk of her head. "As sure as I can be without the 
lab results back. They're running blood-type and DNA 
comparisons now. It'll be a couple days until we have all the 
answers, but...I think its a very likely possibility that she is 
involved."
	"Does Mulder know?" Jason asked quietly.
	Scully felt the unspoken concern, and silently matched it 
with her own. "Yes, at least he knows it's a possibility. I haven't 
given him my final results, I just finished it a moment before you 
arrived. But he's been out interviewing her classmates and 
teachers, and the last time I heard from him... he didn't say it out-
right, but I'm sure it was on his mind. Apparently, her behavior 
has been odd for the past several months, and she has a 
reputation for a violent temper."
	"Where is Mulder now?"
	"He said he was going to talk to a couple more of her 
friends, then go by the house to see if he could find anything 
there that might give us a clue as to where she's hiding." Scully 
pursed her lips, "Actually, I'm surprised he hasn't called me 
again."
	Turning around, she glanced around the room until her 
eyes focused on her cell phone resting on a counter top in the 
corner. Hurrying over to it, she picked up the phone and hit a 
speed-dial button. His concern overcoming his distaste for 
remains of the autopsy, Jason joined her, wrapping one arm tight 
around her shoulders.
	"Answer the phone, Mulder!" Scully pleaded, but the 
phone simply rang in her ear again ... and again ... and again.

----------------------
End Part Three
----------------------

===========================================================================

From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com(Jennifer Lyon)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: "Night Hunter" (R) 4/5
Date: 2 Mar 1996 17:36:02 GMT


Night Hunter  (rated "R")
An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon
Jenni10647@aol.com, jennyann@ix.netcom.com

Disclaimer and Author's Note: Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and the 
X-Files belong to Chris Carter and FOX Network. The remainder 
of this story is mine. This story is the fifth in a series, the first 
four are "Promises to Keep", "Vampire's Kiss", "Interlude with a 
Vampire", and "Vampire's Ball." These stories all assume that a 
love/sexual relationship already exists between Mulder and 
Scully, and on occasion includes the vampire Jason as well. I 
have tried to work the stories around events taking place in the 
episodes as best I can, but the stories should be read as a timeline 
all their own. All four previous stories are available at the 
Gossamer archive or by emailing me. One final note: I'm rating 
this story "R" for violence and sex. 

Part Four

	The cellular phone buzzed unheard, resting in the safety 
of the passenger seat of the warming car. Outside in the snowy 
darkness, Mulder brushed violently at the snow covering the 
windshield, grunting his irritation as a gust of wind picked up the 
cold, white crystals and blew them into his face. His shoulder and 
arm ached from the constant repetitive motion, and it seemed as 
though by the time he had cleared one window, the previous one 
was already coated again.
	"Enough," he said aloud, taking one last swipe at the 
windshield, then turning the brush's short, red bristles onto 
himself. Stamping his feet as he beat at the bottom of his coat, he 
tried to remove as much of the stubborn white dust as he could. 
Giving it up for a lost cause, he opened the car door and 
maneuvered himself into the car as quickly as he could.
	Slamming the door shut, he tossed the brush into the 
back seat, then set the windshield wipers on high. Flicking on the 
high beams, he stared out at the falling snow as it shimmered in 
the headlights like a thousand little fireflies. Shuddering at the 
memory that image recalled, he abruptly put the car into gear, 
then slowly and carefully pressed on the gas.
	As he drove cautiously down the slick streets, he never 
once bothered to look at the now-silent phone abandoned on the 
seat beside him.
					- - - - -

	"Damn," Scully swore under her breath. Glaring at the 
phone as though she could simply will Mulder to answer it, she 
sighed with frustration.	
	"No answer," she said out loud to Jason, who was 
hovering anxiously behind her. Turning to face him, she dropped 
the hand holding the phone to her side. "I can't imagine why he 
wouldn't have his phone with him."
	"Perhaps he forgot," Jason suggested, though the glint 
of worry in his gray-green eyes matched the fear in hers.
	"Maybe..." Scully gazed down at the phone again, then 
dropped it onto the desk. It hit with a sharp clatter, the sound 
harsh against the gentle hum of the morgue equipment.
	"I'll find him," Jason told her.
	"I'll go with you," she replied, half-turning away from 
him as she started to remove her lab coat.
	"No." Jason shook his head. Placing a hand on her 
shoulder, he guided her back around to face him. "Stay here. He 
may call you, or return here. And you have work to finish. 
Mulder will come to no harm, Dana. I will not allow it."
	Scully began to protest, but stopped herself in mid-
sentence. She drew in a deep breath, then nodded reluctantly. She 
did have a lot of work to do, this was the most likely place for 
her partner to return to, and she did trust Jason. Or so she 
believed. He was waiting for her to show that trust, and 
somehow she felt bound to do so. 
	"All right. But please, call me - or have him call me - the 
moment you find him!"
	Jason agreed with a short, elegant bow. "I promise." 
Then with a feather-light brush of her cheek with his cool lips, he 
swept from the room like a burst of the winter wind, leaving an 
empty chill in the air to mark his absence.
					- - - - -

	Mulder guided his car through the snow-covered streets 
with a careful hand, his foot hovering over the brake-pedal. As he 
found his way to the Torver residence, he glanced gratefully at 
the sky. The snow had finally abated, leaving a cold, clear 
crispness to the night air.
	Parking on the edge of the street, he shut off the engine, 
lingering in the warmth of the car's interior before braving the 
winter wonderland outside. The house was a silent presence, 
brooding in apparent isolation, even though no more than a few 
feet of yard space separated it from its neighbors. Those houses 
glowed, light peeking through draped windows, smoke filtering 
from chimneys, steam pooling against the rooftops. In sharp 
contrast, his destination remained cold and forbidding, almost as 
though the wood itself could speak of the horrors done within.
	Easing himself out of the car, he shut the door firmly 
behind him, closing in as much of the remaining warmth as he 
could for his return, then strode purposefully up the driveway, 
the fresh snow crunching beneath his feet. The steps were 
slippery with ice, and he negotiated them with delicate care. His 
gloved hand left a clear print in the layer of ice on the porch 
railing as he used it to steady himself. Reaching the door, he 
fumbled for the key in his pocket. The familiar broad band of 
yellow crime-scene tape was stretched across the doorknob, and 
he tore it away.
	Finally, he was inside, the closed door shutting out even 
the faintest gleam of the moonlight, leaving him in pitch 
blackness. Feeling for the light switch on the wall, he found the 
small protrusion and flipped it upward. Light streamed down 
from the ceiling, throwing a harsh yellow glare across the 
hallway. Stepping carefully over chalk marks, edging around the 
stained spots of gore that still remained as bloody reminders of 
the recent carnage, he wandered deeper into the house.
	Standing at the foot of the stairs, he froze at a sudden 
noise. Every nerve jangling, he listened with total concentration, 
and was rewarded with another scraping sound from his left. His 
memory supplied the plan of the house, bringing recognition that 
the intruder was in the kitchen. Had there been a pet, perhaps, he 
asked himself, even as his hand freed the strap holding his gun in 
its holster.
	His footsteps were nearly soundless on the thick carpet, 
and the faint glow from the front hallway gave him enough to see 
by. Reaching the doorway to the wide, open kitchen, he paused, 
pressing his back against the wall. Then tightening his hand upon 
the butt of the gun, he whirled around the corner.
	Renata felt him before she saw him, smelled him before 
she heard him. Twisting around, she snarled at the intruder, 
ignoring the pink paint of the cake icing smeared across her face 
and jaw. Her hair curled around her, long and loose, like an 
ebony blanket, yet wild with electricity, it floated with a life of its

own. Her eyes were huge, black, the pupils and irises 
indistinguishable, and her nose seemed to lift and widen, sniffing 
at the air.
	He stopped short when he saw her, and they faced each 
other silently across the expanse of empty tile. Eyes measuring, 
judging danger, questioning. Then he broke the silence, his eyes 
barely lighter than hers, the green highlights glinting in the dark 
depths. "Renata," he said, and it wasn't really a question.
	She ignored it, taking one step closer to him, her eyes 
darting around. She tasted the air, sniffed at it suspiciously, 
searching. She had recognized Mulder instantly as the man she 
had seen in the cemetery, and now she sought for the scent of the 
other who had been with him, the one who was death walking, 
but could not sense it. She frowned slightly in concentration, 
waiting for it to appear, but it did not.
	"Renata," his voice was more certain now, and he 
moved towards her a single step at a time, his hands held out in 
front of him, almost in supplication. "My name is Mulder. I mean 
you no harm. I'm here to help..."
	She cocked her head towards him, her mouth widening, 
her eyes narrowing as she took in the sound. The meaning never 
penetrated, but she liked the way the tone fell on her ears, it was 
silken smooth. So she let him speak a moment longer, letting the 
flow of the words cascade over her ears until more pressing 
interests claimed attention.
	She took one more sniff of the air, assuring herself of 
the absence of the other, then she bolted in sudden motion, giving 
no warning of her intention. One instant she was as still as a 
statue, the next she barreled at him, barely one hundred pounds 
of mass turned into energy.
	He barely had a chance to yell out before she impacted 
with him, knocking him off his feet. She tumbled with him, 
unconcerned, letting his body break her fall. He cried out, then 
moaned, as he hit the floor hard, his hands instinctively reaching 
up to cradle the back of his head. Tears welled unbidden in his 
eyes, as he reached for the spot of impact.
	Renata, however, was exactly where she wanted to be. 
He felt warm and supple beneath her, the heat of his body leaking 
up to her through their clothes. He smelled good, and she 
dropped her mouth to his jaw, licking at his skin. It was salty, still 
somewhat chilled from the night air, but flushed with the blood 
racing within. She licked at him again, and again, growling when 
he wriggled, his head turning one way and then another to avoid 
her, his hands coming down to push her away. He was saying 
something, but she ignored it. Words meant nothing, the 
sensations flowing through her belly were all that mattered.
	His hands found her shoulder and shoved hard, but she 
grabbed at his upper arms and held on tight. He gasped as he felt 
the strength in her grip, his eyes dilating in shock. She got caught 
briefly by their color, green mixing with brown and gray, like the 
shifting color of sand on a beach, then she dove down towards 
him again, screeching with frustration when he managed to avoid 
her darting tongue.
	They struggled, sliding across the polished floor, Mulder 
fighting for purchase, Renata simply clinging to him. Her strength 
was shocking, her demand incessant. He twisted his head to one 
side, she bit at the exposed ear, he turned that side away, and she 
caught at his nose like a playful puppy. He threw her off to the 
side, and she bounced up again, tangling her fingers in the fine 
material of his shirt. His tie was an encumbrance he suddenly 
wished he hadn't worn, and she used it to full advantage, seizing 
hold of it when he managed to get up to his knees. He toppled 
back over on top of her, his breath choking in his throat, but she 
let go quickly, seizing his shoulders and tossing him back down 
to the floor. Hissing with satisfaction, she pounced upon him 
again.
	Finally, frustration pounding away at good intentions, he 
slapped her face hard. She howled in anger, striking back with 
clawed fingers, raking at his chest. The thin shirt tore easily, 
allowing her nails to catch against his skin. He yelled back, and 
she laughed aloud, a sound of animalistic delight. He was fun to 
play with, she decided, and she began to tussle with him, giggling 
in an eerie mockery of human mirth. The sound frightened him, 
and his reactions turned more desperate. Their bodies slid across 
the slippery tile, a writhing mass of arms and legs, until taking a 
handful of her hair, he yanked her head backwards, forcing her 
laughter to strangle into a cry.
	Anger flashed in her eyes, and she reared up over him, 
taking hold of his arms with nearly superhuman strength and 
forcing them down over his head. A few strands tore loose in his 
hand, remaining tangled in his fingers as they struck the floor. 
Fear flashed in his eyes, and she growled, her body shaking like a 
leaf in the wind.
	She convulsed, and his breath froze in his lungs. His 
eyes dilated, a look of abject shock overcoming his features. 
Again she howled, her voice rising to a whine that grated 
painfully on his ears. All of his senses collapsed in the face of 
reality, for believing in a possibility was nothing compared to 
seeing the actuality, and he lay there stunned as she began to 
change.
	Skin split, revealing wide slashes of muscle and bone, 
even as the flesh grew fluid, molding, shifting, flowing. Teeth 
seemed to sprout between her broken lips, canines arcing down 
nearly to the bottom of her chin. Hair follicles went wild, bristly 
black hair bursting out across almost every inch of her skin. Her 
face broadened, the nose widening, the nostrils enlarging. Her 
hands elongated, the nails lengthening into sharply pointed claws, 
and with an agonized cry she let go of her grip on his arms, 
turning those nails inward on herself, tearing away the remainder 
of her clothes.
	Below her, Mulder attempted to wriggle away, shoving 
hard at the polished floor, but she was seated securely across his 
hips. As she howled, shaking above him, her legs squeezing in 
around him, he abandoned hope of freeing himself and reached 
instead for the weapon still trapped at his waist. It stuck, his shirt 
tail and her thigh in the way, but he was desperate. He yanked 
harder and it finally came free, the familiar weight a comfort in 
the palm of his hand. Bringing it up to his chest, he clicked off 
the safety and pointed it directly at her.
	Yet he hesitated, perhaps only for the length of a 
heartbeat, because despite the horror of the transformation, he 
could still see a vestige of the girl she had once been. One who 
could well have been his sister, one who had giggled with her 
friends, visited the Grand Canyon with her parents, who had had 
hopes of a future. But the eyes that glared down at him from the 
distorted face, lost in a thicket of tangled black hair, were no 
longer human. They glowed a fierce yellow, glaring at him with a 
hunger so intense it made his very bones seem to melt with fear. 
His fingers convulsed on the trigger, and he prepared for the 
shock of the bullet's impact on her.
	It never came. Instead his bullet hit the refrigerator 
behind him with a loud crack, and it was only a second later that 
he realized her weight was no longer on him. He curled up 
instinctively, drawing his long legs protectively in towards his 
belly. Both hands clamped down hard on the gun, as he held it 
barely inches from his face. Over the top of the barrel, he found 
himself staring with astonishment.
	"Jason?!" Mulder tried to cry out, perhaps unaware that 
only a bare whisper actually made it past his parched lips. He had 
not heard or noticed the vampire enter, and Jason's attack on 
Renata had been too rapid for the human eye to see. Now, he 
held her suspended against the wall, one slender, ivory hand 
closed around her bulging throat, the other pressed into her belly. 
She was spitting, howling in a high-pitched whine that sent 
shivers up the watching man's spine.
	Jason responded with a deep, angry growl, tightening 
his grip on her throat, squeezing, forcing the sound of her cry to 
strangle off into a low hiss. He raised her even higher, backing 
just slightly from the wall, so that she was solely suspended from 
his grip on her throat. Behind them, Mulder finally scrambled to 
his feet, his mind tumbling. Should he try to stop Jason, and if so, 
how? He took one step closer, never releasing his grip on his 
gun, only to be forced backwards when Renata abruptly broke 
Jason's grip.
	The vampire gasped in shock at the power of her strike, 
then tumbled aside as her sharp-taloned hands gouged at his face, 
her feet kicking at his legs. Grabbing hold of her again, he shook 
her hard, but instead of fighting free this time, she clutched at 
him. She clamped down on him, winding her legs around his and 
when her face got close to his, she began to bite viciously at 
every inch of his skin she could reach. His skin was not as easily 
torn as a human's, but she went at him with a strength that 
amazed him.
	Jason cried out, struggling with her, his sharp fangs 
expanding with the power of his own fury. They snarled at each 
other, stumbling across the room, two savage creatures bound in 
battle. Jason instinctively sunk his teeth into her neck, drawing 
deeply on her blood, only to come up sputtering. His face 
contorted in disgust, leaving the droplets of crimson gore to 
trickle down his chin. The taste was skewed, unpleasant, tainted, 
and it made his stomach recoil. But there wasn't time to think 
about it, she was gouging at his eyes, tearing at his chest, and he 
roared with fury and pain.
	He slammed her hard, knocking her head sideways, she 
screamed, refusing to let go of her grip on him. The struggle 
continued, each biting, hitting, kicking at each other. He threw 
her against a cabinet, and she rebounded back at him, throwing 
him to the ground. They tumbled there, landing in a writhing 
mass at Mulder's feet.
	The agent stood, hesitating, his finger trembling on the 
gun trigger, terrified to shoot lest he strike Jason as well as 
Renata. They were too close, too tightly entwined, and Mulder 
couldn't gain a clear shot, even as he circled around them, hoping 
against hope that they would separate long enough for him to 
fire. The bell-like chime of his cell phone shattered his 
concentration, but he ignored it, raging impotently at it to shut 
up. Neither of the combatants noticed it, or him, as they 
continued to tear violently at each other.
	Blood spattered upwards, as Renata took out a chunk of 
Jason's cheek. She reared her head back, a small fold of his skin 
waving between her lips. She bit down, then spit it out, then bent 
down for another assault. Jason screamed, and the sound shook 
Mulder to the core. He had come to see Jason as somehow 
invulnerable, despite seeing him burnt by the sun, wounded in 
fights with others of his kind. The vampire's recoveries had been 
so miraculous that combined with his self-appointed role as 
Mulder's protector, the man had come to rely on Jason's strength 
to win through in all situations. But this was an unknown, Mulder 
knew nothing of what the werewolf could do to the vampire. 
Could Jason be killed? Or worse, could he be hurt so badly that 
he would never fully recover? The thought of the proud, elegant 
vampire being confined to the horror of a crippled, painful 
eternity made Mulder's stomach cramp up in knots. He nearly 
doubled over, gasping for breath. 
	No, no, no...Mulder wanted to scream. There were so 
few people in this world that he trusted and cared for - that he 
loved. Why did they always have to suffer for him? Why did he 
always bring them nothing but pain? Jason shouldn't have been 
involved in this, wouldn't have been if Mulder hadn't asked him to 
be. His fault, again it was his fault, and the leaden weight of that 
guilt made him stagger. Yet, at the same moment, a bitter resolve 
pushed its way upwards from his cramping gut. Rage, clear and 
simple, it silenced the confusion in his mind. Biting down so hard 
on his lower lip that he drew blood, Mulder used the pain to aid 
his focus. 
	Glancing down at the gun in his hand, his mind raced 
through his options. He knew that there was no way he could fire 
without hitting Jason as well as Renata, the range was too close. 
Also, there was the possibility that any bullet he fired could 
damage Jason as well as Renata if it passed through her. Still, the 
bullets wouldn't *kill* Jason, though, especially if Mulder aimed 
away from their heads. Could a bullet kill Renata? One had killed 
Lyle Parker, so it was a likely possibility. That memory gave him 
a sudden burst of hope, and he took one short step backwards, 
drawing in a deep breath.
	His decision had only taken a few short seconds to 
make, and then he acted without hesitation. Sighting down the 
barrel of his gun, he waited just long enough for Renata to twist 
so that she was between him and Jason. It was the best he could 
hope for, and squeezing hard on the trigger, he fired three times.
	Renata screamed as fire lanced through her, blood 
spurting from the sudden wounds. Jason, too, cried out as one 
shot went high, missing Renata completely and struck him in the 
shoulder. He was forced backwards by the impact, his body 
twisting to the side. In the same moment, she grabbed onto him 
with gore-stained claws, reaching desperately for support of any 
kind. He shoved her away, hissing through his teeth. She howled, 
then broke off into a retching cough, blood dribbling out of the 
corners of her mouth. Her entire body convulsed as she slid to 
the floor at his feet.
	"Jason!" Mulder yelled. The vampire, clutching at his 
wounded shoulder, shook his head at the sound, unable to 
respond. Mulder kept his gun trained on Renata's trembling, 
blood-drenched form as he stepped around her to get to Jason. 
The vampire was pressed back against the stove, his body frozen 
as though he had stopped in mid-motion. One slender, white-
skinned hand was held in front of him, palm facing outward, 
while the other remained glued to the oozing wound. His face 
was a mask of undiluted rage, nothing remotely human remaining 
in his glowing red eyes. 
	Mulder reached for him, and at the faintest brush of 
Mulder's fingers against his arm, Jason flew into motion. Hissing, 
he seized Mulder and pulled him into an iron embrace. Mulder 
gasped aloud, but before he could react further, he found himself 
dropped towards the floor with astonishing speed. The vampire 
never released his hold on the man clasped in his arms, and 
Mulder came to rest a heart-stopping inch above the floor. 
	Suspended in Jason's grip, Mulder pleaded for a sensible 
response, but was instead rocked by the sudden, burning thrust of 
the vampire's fangs into the soft skin of his neck. Unprepared for 
the abruptness of the assault, Mulder twisted, only to be 
restrained by hands whose inhuman strength was unsoftened by 
the tenderness he had come to expect from them. The mouth on 
his neck was no less demanding, and the teeth dug harshly into 
his throat.
	"Jaaaasssson," Mulder growled, but even despite the 
unusual severity of Jason's attack the inevitable flood of ecstasy 
which formed the vampire's reward to its prey was already 
flooding over his senses. His head drooped backwards, his eyelids 
fluttering over eyes that quickly lost their focus. His hands 
clutched at Jason's arms, then released and fell limply to the floor 
as the vampire drank deep.
					- - - - -

	As she finished up her autopsy report, Scully's eye kept 
wandering to the silent phone. Each time, she would stare at the 
stubbornly silent machine, her breath held hard within her lungs in 
the desperate hope that it would, at last, ring. Then she would 
turn back to the computer, the air escaping in an audible sigh, and 
she would type a few sentences more. When the report was 
finally done, her watch confirmed that it had been less than two 
hours since Jason had left, and she told herself yet again that she 
ought to be patient. However, she was finding the wait 
exceedingly difficult. The man she loved could be in serious 
danger, and it went against her every instinct to be sitting here, 
just waiting for the phone to ring. Born into a military family, it 
was not an unfamiliar feeling, but that made it no less frustrating. 
	She told herself that Mulder was a trained and 
experienced agent, but it was hard to forget that he also had an 
extraordinary talent for attracting trouble, or worse yet, of 
deliberately putting himself into the middle of any possible danger 
he could find - and of getting himself hurt in the process. 
Professionally it made sense for him to continue digging into the 
case while she conducted the autopsy, it was part of the balance 
of talents and experience that made them such a successful team, 
but personally it was difficult to let him go out alone. 
	"Damn you Mulder, answer your phone or call me!" she 
cursed aloud, glaring bitterly at the small plastic phone. It 
remained stubbornly silent. Making an exasperated sigh, she 
grabbed for the phone. Stabbing at the speed dial button, she 
raised it to her ear. This time she refused to hang up, even when 
it rang and rang and rang.
					- - - - -

	Blood, precious, glorious, life-giving, it flowed down his 
throat in a river of sensation. Jason nuzzled into the source, 
gouging the sharp tips of his fangs deeper into the yielding flesh. 
The smell wafted to his nostrils, human and male and sweaty, 
stirring at his memory. Something twisted inside, but he was too 
lost in the hunger to pay it attention. Nothing mattered but the 
blood that flowed into him and out through him, bringing a 
stinging warmth to his cold extremities, flushing out his ivory 
skin with borrowed color.
	The vampire was in his element, floating in a sea of 
satisfaction so intense, that nothing could ever match the sheer 
pleasure of the experience. Every neuron in the vampire's body 
tingled, every cell demanded its share. He wanted more, to draw 
every sweet drop from the fountain cradled in his arms. He 
needed this to never stop, to go on and on and on...
	An insistent ringing assaulted his ears, and he tensed, 
muscles hardening against the disturbance. He suckled at his prey 
again, ignoring the buzzing, but it refused to stop. The blood was 
already beginning to fill him, ease the pain of his wounds, 
dampening the urgency of his need. The heat of the infusion sped 
his healing, bringing the first dawning edge of clarity his mind. 
Even as the primal desire for the blood raged against interference 
with the satisfaction held trembling in his grip, a tiny part of his 
mind seized hold of the sound scraping at his ears, using it to pull 
him, protesting all the way, towards a recognition of self and 
surroundings.
	Finally he forced himself to draw his head away from the 
warm pleasure of his blood source, his body literally shaking with 
the whirlwind of dark desire still fighting for domination of his 
soul. Realizing that the abrasive noise came from below, he 
scrambled at the dark cloak covering the man now sprawled on 
the floor at his feet. A low moan, a whine of mixed frustration 
and satisfaction, escaped over his protruding teeth as his hands 
closed on the cause of the aural irritation. He shook the small, 
smooth object, reddened eyes gazing at it with confusion. It 
beeped insistently in his hand, and he flipped it open, fumbling 
awkwardly at the buttons.
	"Mulder!!!" A female voice screamed from the object, 
and Jason nearly fell backwards. Memory, understanding, 
knowledge finally washed back over his mind, and with it came a 
stunned, guilty sense of shock. What had he done?
	"Scully?" he whispered. Her voice cried Mulder's name 
again, and this time he put the receiver to his mouth before 
answering. 
	"Scully, it's Jason."
	"Jason, thank God!" Her voice sounded tinny and 
distant, but nothing could hide the depths of her  worry. "Have 
you found Mulder?"
	Jason's eyes were drawn to the man sprawled below 
him, and he swallowed hard, unable to keep from licking at the 
edges of his fangs, even as they began to retract.
	"I found him, yes," he replied, even as fear began to chill 
the stolen warmth from his body. Holding the phone with one 
hand, he reached down to touch Mulder's skin. The silken flesh 
was still warm, the pulse beating hard. Jason pressed a hand to 
Mulder's chest and nearly cried aloud in relief when he felt the 
heartbeat echoing the pulse, the lungs pumping air. Turning his 
focus inward, he reached for Mulder's mind, and found it 
quiescent, resting yet seemingly undamaged. He had stopped in 
time, and that realization brought bright red tears to the vampire's 
eyes. Blinking them away, he noted that the wound on Mulder's 
neck remained open, a slow trickle of blood staining his shirt 
collar red. Thrusting the phone away, he bent to seal the gash 
with his tongue.
	Only when he was sure Mulder was safe from any 
further blood loss, did Jason return to the phone. By this point, 
Scully was panicked, screaming into the phone, and he had to 
shout her name to get her attention. She silenced immediately, 
the expectancy of her quiet more demanding to his ears than her 
shouts had been.
	"Mulder found Renata," Jason told her. "She attacked 
him, but had not hurt him seriously when I arrived. I fought with 
her, then I think Mulder shot us."
	"Shot you?" Scully broke in.
	"Yes, but he only hit me in the shoulder, and it'll be 
fine." Jason peered at the torn spot in his clothing, observing 
wryly that the wound itself had already puckered over. He turned 
his head to gaze at the twisted, still-oozing body behind him and 
he grimaced. "I think, however, that the girl-wolf-creature will 
not."
	"Girl-wolf?" Scully echoed.
	"I think Mulder's theory was correct, she was not fully 
human. I do not completely understand what she was, but it 
doesn't matter now. She is dead. The wolf part is gone, leaving 
only the body of a girl."
	Jason could almost hear Scully shaking her head over 
the phone, and her disbelief was somehow comforting. He wished 
desperately that she was there, so that he could look once more 
into those huge blue eyes, if only to see some sign of 
understanding and comfort before he told her what he had almost 
done.
	When Jason didn't continue, Scully's sense of worry 
sharpened. "What's wrong? Jason?"
	"Mulder is...I was wounded in the fight and the hunger, 
I needed..."
	"You needed blood. Mulder fed you..." Scully's voice 
rose. "Jason?"
	"He's alive," Jason's voice was as tense as an over-
stretched rubber band. "But I came close, too close, to taking too 
much. He'll be all right, I stopped in time. It was simply that I 
was wounded, and the hunger was so strong...I'm sorry, Dana, 
I'm so sorry. I could have..." His voice trailed off into a whisper.
	Scully swallowed hard, then tried to speak reassuringly 
into the phone. "It's all right, Jason. Just stay with him. I'm on my 
way. Where are you?"
	"At the house," Jason replied hoarsely.
	"All right, don't move. Wait for me!" A click told him 
she was gone. He remained crouched there on the floor, the dead 
phone still clutched to his ear, his other hand cradling Mulder's 
head. A single red droplet pooled in the corner of his right eye, 
then fell silently, unnoticed down the length of his cheek and jaw.

--------------------
End Part Four
--------------------

===========================================================================

From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com(Jennifer Lyon)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: "Night Hunter" (R) 5/5
Date: 2 Mar 1996 17:36:57 GMT


Night Hunter  (rated "R")
An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon
Jenni10647@aol.com, jennyann@ix.netcom.com

Disclaimer and Author's Note: Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and the 
X-Files belong to Chris Carter and FOX Network. The remainder 
of this story is mine. This story is the fifth in a series, the first 
four are "Promises to Keep", "Vampire's Kiss", "Interlude with a 
Vampire", and "Vampire's Ball." These stories all assume that a 
love/sexual relationship already exists between Mulder and 
Scully, and on occasion includes the vampire Jason as well. I 
have tried to work the stories around events taking place in the 
episodes as best I can, but the stories should be read as a timeline 
all their own. All four previous stories are available at the 
Gossamer archive or by emailing me. One final note: I'm rating 
this story "R" for violence and sex. 

Part Five - Epilogue					

	Jason leaned against the porch-railing, ignoring the 
bustle of the crime-scene activity. The technicians hurried past 
him, seeking the warmth and shelter of the house, sparing only 
quick, curious glances for the marble-like figure standing in the 
winter cold. None noticed the lack of steam emanating from his 
mouth, or the healing gash of skin, puckered and slightly raw, 
across his right cheek. None paid him much attention, until a 
taller, dark-haired figure stepped out from inside and joined him 
on the porch.
	They stood silently for a moment, gazing at the waning 
moon, then Jason said with unnatural calm, "You should be 
resting."
	"I will. You should come inside."
	"I like it out here. I belong out here - in the night."
	"I like it too, sometimes. Tonight is too cold, though." 
Mulder replied casually, uncertain how to penetrate Jason's 
mood.
	"I don't feel the cold," Jason replied quietly. 
	"I think you do. Jason..." Mulder paused, taking a deep 
breath. It released in a thick cloud of smoke when he spoke. "It 
wasn't your fault."
	"I could have killed you," Jason said bluntly.
	"You didn't. And remember, I shot you first. You were 
wounded, I would have fed you anyway."
	"Not like that." Jason's voice wasn't even self-
condemning, it was empty of all inflection.
	"No - but it doesn't matter. It's over, and we both made 
it out alive. That's good enough."
	Jason shrugged.
	Mulder easily  recognized the familiar strain of guilt in 
the vampire's demeanor. Mulder was no stranger to that emotion, 
and he knew better than to attempt to ease it with platitudes. 
Instead, he placed a hand on Jason's shoulder and spoke simply, 
yet compellingly into his ear.
	"When you're ready, Scully and I will be waiting." 
	Letting go, he punched his chilled fingers into the depths 
of his coat pocket and hurried back inside.
	Jason stood on that icy porch a while longer, bright 
green eyes never wavering from the silver crescent that hung low 
in the black velvet of the sky. Then pressing his shoulders 
together in silent acknowledgement of the cold, he turned back 
towards the warmth that waited for him inside.

The End


--------------------------------------------------------------------------
jennyann@ix.netcom.com        Jenni10647@AOL.com
	  X-Phile	    -    True Believer	

"Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs 
the millstone of humiliation." Fox Mulder  "The X-Files"

"What's the going rate for putting an innocent man away 
for the rest of his life, Doctor?" Ted Hoffman  "Murder One"
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