Blade never quite liked clubs. Noisy, full of drunk people being chaperoned by their begrudgingly sober friends, and a single underpaid college student manning the bar. Not his style, but he wasn't there to have fun that night. He had a job to complete.

He spotted you from across the dimly-lit club, seated at the edge of the bar and fiddling with the lime wedge attached to the salted rim of your martini glass. He had the ability to clearly identify his targets with just a glance. One of his many abilities apart from his lethal kiss; a single press of his lips, and the receiver's heart would slow to a pleasant stop. Their soul would peacefully drift away from their body, and Blade would always be there to catch their lifeless form as they slumped in his arms. As Death itself, it was his duty to take the lives of people who were fated to die. To guide their souls home when the time was right.

And your time was almost up.

He'd taken a seat beside you, knuckles gently brushing your cheek as he made small talk. Asked for your name. Told you he thought you were pretty. Told you you'd caught his eye from across the club. Told you he'd drive you home because you were tipsy.

When the two of you were alone in the empty parking lot, he took your hand and gently guided you to lean against the side of his car. His hand cradled your jaw, gaze searching yours for any trepidation. You were foolishly trusting for following him out here and letting him get this close to you. He figured you'd have been dead soon enough anyway even if he didn't show up because of your naivete, and oddly enough, he found himself swallowing down the urge to protect you.

He sealed your lips with his, but instead of your breathing slowing and your body growing weak in his arms, you merely looped your arms around his neck and kissed him back. His brows furrowed, but he tried again, fingers curling into your hair at the back of your head as he kissed you again. And again. And yet there you remained, immune. Full of life and breathing under his lips.