Disclaimer: I do not own SVU, it belongs to someone else.

A Note: This story is a bit unlike everything that normally gets posted here. I've had the idea for awhile, but I was afraid to post anything for fear it wouldn't be received well. But after reading "I Am Dragon, Hear me Roar!" I've decided that it should be OK. It's loosely based off of the role playing game "Vampire: The Masquerade" and a lot of the terms like Embrace and Sire come from it. Also, it is E/G so if you don't like it don't read it. But I don't like E/O much and have secret dreams about Elliot confessing his love to George on the show one day, so there :P So no flaming please, I'll just ignore it.

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As Darkness Falls

Chapter One: The Master and The Queen

His body was hotter than the night which pressed in about them, muggy and demanding. His eyes were glazed in rapture, every iota of his being was focused on that intense pleasure, pleasure like he'd never felt before he broke. He barely perceived the contrast of the burning night and the cold body which pressed hard behind him. He moaned as he gave over to his climax, convulsing, and falling. Bloodied and wounded, the pain was ecstasy.

His corpse hit the ground.

From behind him rose a man in red leather. He quickly shed this tight outfit and another much larger man scooped it up and took it from him. He dressed quickly, picking at himself as he did so.

"He was fun," he giggled, "but... he broke too fast."

He surveyed himself, twisting about and trying to make sure there wasn't a single wrinkle on his attire. He slipped on a leather jacket and tied it firmly about his waist, tied a brightly covered scarf about his neck, and smoothed his hair.

"You look stunning, master," said the brick wall of a man, who had hung the leather away and had wrapped the body up.

Licking his lips the master tisked, and plucked his handkerchief up and wiped his mouth delicately, then applied a small amount of lip gloss.

"I just wish he lasted longer," he said wistfully.

"You are very strong, master," said the servant.

The master looked quickly about the apartment. The rest would be here soon. Nodding once he picked up a handbag and slung it over his shoulder and headed for the door.

"Come now Thomas, we've an appointment," said his master, smoothing his hair once more.

Thomas bowed as he headed to open the door for him. He was dressed sharply in an expensive suit and had his head completely shaved. The truly curious thing was the leather collar about his neck.

They left the dark studio apartment above a Chinese herbalists shop. A silver Lexus IS F was parked in front of the shop. Thomas unlocked the car with a quick click of the keys and held the back door open for his master, then entered the driver's side.

"I need stronger willed toys," said the master absently as they pulled away. "With a better constitution at that."

Thomas agreed with him.

His master smoothed his hair absentmindedly, and suppressed a yawn.

The night was young.

Dr. George Huang, a psychological profiler for the FBI, swigged his cold coffee and glanced over an old case file. It was providing some insight to the latest rash of murders that were sweeping the city and sending crime awareness groups into positive mayhem.

He didn't look up at the soft knock at the door and told them to come in, flipping a page and studying a picture of a rather deranged man whom had filed his own teeth and had attempted to kill a police officer by going for the neck.

The door opened just a bit and in sidled a man whom George knew and could not honestly say he liked. Of all his colleagues he was easily the most big-headed, self righteous prig he'd ever met. He'd been working in New York for only a few months and already he had the airs of a veteran. He controlled his expression.

"Hello George," said the man.

George looked up, putting on a professional smile. Dr. Alain Rictor, who also did psychological profiling for serial killers, but not sex offenders like he himself did. "Hello, Alain," he replied casually, then looked back down.

For all that George hated him he had to admit the man had a sexual energy about him that everyone could see, and he was very handsome. He was thin and lithe, his movements were graceful. His blond 

hair was wavy and cut about the ears, red square-framed glasses polished. Everything about him, from the trendy way he was dressed and groomed to his tightly controlled profession seemed fake. George positively hated him.

Alain slid into the leather guest seat across from him, smiling winningly. He leaned forward, oddly flecked green eyes danced over the files in front of him.

"Ah the... vampyric cases," he said, "how nice for you. Working tight with the NYPD too," he finished teasingly.

"I enjoy working with them," George replied. "These are quite similar to the Corley case in Washington, I'm just cross-referencing now for some ideas."

Alain nodded, staring at him. He looked positively amused. "Our delightful leader has sent me to give this to you," he said, sliding a file across the desk.

George picked it up and flicked it open.

Alain watched a moment, and smoothing his wavy hair said, "An unsolved case in Atlanta, very similar to this."

George nodded, muttering his thanks, not looking at those strange eyes he hated so much. He lifted a page to look at the photos of the discovered corpses. Alain was still staring, and it bothered him.

"Anything else?" he asked, trying to keep the hint off of his voice.

"Oh, no," Alain smirked. He rose, brushed off his pants, and turned to leave. "Have fun with the Neanderthals at SVU."

He left the room.

George chucked the file at the door as the phone began to ring. He answered it, scribbled down a note, and rose to collect his things. Captain Cragen, sounding tired and very over worked, had just called.

There was another body.

The body was discovered in another odd area, this one down by the river by an abandoned warehouse. He met CSU and Detective Elliot Stabler, who was bouncing on spot, twirling his keys and staring off into space. George recognized it at once as a nervous bounce – the bodies were usually gruesome. Some more than others.

"'Lo George," said Elliot casually.

George tried not to show his amusement. Elliot looked like a great big kid who was trying not to show he had to use the washroom. It helped ease off the stress.

"Hello Elliot," he replied, feeling more friendly than normal. "How bad?"

Elliot looked uneasy. He tossed his head towards the warehouse. "Some kids looking to smoke a little pot in peace found it. They ran out screaming. It's the usual story, guy's about six foot tall and two hundred pounds, athletic. Burns all over his body, deep lacerations, looks like he's been chained up like all the rest."

They were walking towards the warehouse. It was an old, brick building. Windows were smashed with stones, the grounds covered in rusty cars. Charcoal from campfires dotted the more reclusive spots. CSU were combing the grounds for clues. Ducking under the tape they entered the cool, musty interior.

Lights shone on the body. CSU were taking pictures and cataloguing likely evidence. The body was drenched in light. George stepped up and leaned slightly over, getting a look.

He was completely naked save a stained leather collar. The body was rough, slices and burns at random intervals. Heavy bruising and bleeding about the wrists and neck. The face, however, was flawless as usual with not a drop of blood. The killer wanted his victim looking good. Likely he'd been raped, too, like the others. He leaned closer, putting on a silicon glove. He touched the victim's neck lightly.

Two perfect punctures.

It was disquieting. Swallowing, he withdrew his hand. He looked back at the greyish skin turned white in the light. Glancing up he noticed Elliot had turned his back on the scene.

He stood up. "Same as always," said George, circling. "Displayed spread eagle for all to see. Tortured and degraded. Raped. And the bite mark."

Elliot shuddered visibly.

"Vampirism bother you, Elliot?" he asked.

"A little," he replied turning. "I mean, if this sicko is really drinking blood..."

George nodded his agreement. "Probably does a little bit."

"Is that all?" he asked.

George nodded again and started for the exit. Elliot followed him and the two walked in silence until they were back out in the sunlight. Looking up at the Manhattan skyline with a deep azure backdrop they both relaxed.

"How's Olivia?" Elliot asked softly.

George sighed. "You know I can't tell you."

Elliot glared at him. "Why not? You can at least tell me if she's OK."

He looked up at the bigger man. Rage pulsed through his being. He was untameable. He admired that very much in him, although it did give him the qualities of a ticking time bomb.

"She's fine, Elliot," he said softly.

It was enough to make him relax. They stepped aside to let CSU pass. Olivia Benson, Elliot's partner in SVU, was undercover in the vampyric culture of New York. She was masquerading about the clubs looking for information, and George was the only one allowed contact in order to coach her, and even that contact was brief, controlled phone calls on secured lines.

"His name is Ed Gontier, an officer with NYPD. His information was with his clothes, like all the others. He was described as a very masculine, alpha male type. A "take no shit" kind of guy, who had a couple of excessive force charges on his record," said Elliot.

George wrote down the information. "Whoever this person is they have a serious inferiority complex. They revel in torturing and raping and degrading the biggest men around to prove how strong they are. The act of drinking blood simply enforces ownership, which is also enforced by the collar. He probably makes them beg before he actually kills them. As for the rest of the vampyric tendencies, he likely gets a sort of sexual stimulation from the act of biting and drinking. Also it could be a mother complex; he was too close to her and didn't have any support from a father so he achieves intimacy with men by drinking and rape. It could also be him trying to prove that he's stronger than his father. I wish I had a suspect to interview."

Elliot glanced down at him, having heard this all before. "You already know there are no connections to these guys, except that they're all police officers."

George nodded. "Yeah. Listen, I might as well get back to the office. I'll see if Olivia has any leads."

Elliot seemed like he wanted to say something as they walked back to his car. George slid into the beaten up Honda Civic he needed to replace. Elliot stood by the door, watching him, wanting to say something. He nodded and shut the door for him. George waved good-bye.

Elliot had been acting oddly for awhile, especially since they had been required to work closely together recently in Olivia's absence. Elliot came with the doctor on rounds, and when they went to go investigate a possible subject (all of which had just ended up being delusional teens with no connection after all) he was right along side him in the interrogation room. He suspected it was because of the way he was moving through leaning posts, so to speak. First Kathy, then Hendricks and Danni and Olivia. Now he'd found one in George just because he was happy to listen.

It was bothersome in some ways too – the good doctor had always been attracted to the fierce predatory nature Elliot possessed, and the passion and fire he commanded made most people who were attracted to those with a y-chromosome weak in the knees.

Shifting uncomfortably, wondering what Elliot could possibly want to say to him, he figured he had enough problems right now without trying to figure out that enigma.

Rising up from his soft king size bed the master looked about the room and sniffed the air. Tonight he was in his brown stone in the west fifties, not far away from central park. The window was open letting in a fresh breeze. He smoothed his hair absentmindedly and looked down to Thomas, who was sleeping next to him. Naked and somewhat battered from their love-making he was passed out entirely and likely wouldn't wake until morning.

The master slipped from the sheets and paced the room a moment. He was hungry again, which was unheard of. Someone of his age should only need to feed every few months. But he was possessed. He needed to feed, he needed...

He shook suddenly and grasped at the wall to keep him held up. He needed to hurt something. It was like degeneration into a lower level ghoul. That need to feed and rip and tear, and of course reproduce. He glanced at the window and strode quickly over.

He searched for the moon - he could just see it over the edge of a sky scraper. Yes. Full moon, and not just any... it was the 30th of the month. A blue moon. His fangs itched.

He slipped into some ragged street clothes, not caring for appearances that night. And this body would like scare the filth tracking him, too. Those pigs in the NYPD so desperately clawing after him who would never find him. He was far too meticulous to leave hints.

Glancing at Thomas he leapt from the third floor balcony and landed easily on the ground, catlike and quiet. Hunger ripped through him. He yearned to pick any target, to sink his fangs nice and deep and feel the blood fill his mouth... he grew slightly hard at the thought.

Walking along he knew that he had to pick a nice little pawn. Police officer? Possible, yes, for he was strong enough despite his slender frame. He knew several players in his game. If he didn't despise women he knew one who'd been sent to find him in that nasty vampire subculture that were naught above vermin. She was a rook. He kept a nice eye on those following him, and had a few good targets in mind. Some pawns and some more key players in his chess game. Like the king. He giggled. He was for later.

No, perhaps he'd injure them severely. The queen would work nicely. It might send the king into a crusade.

Turning he headed with purpose downtown. Hailing a taxi he slid inside and told him a general address. He didn't know where he lived exactly, but he could find him by scent.

The cabbie didn't seem too hot on having him in the car, but he slipped plenty of money through the window. Dressed in a pair of tattered jeans, worn sneakers, a dark wool toque and a ripped hoodie he didn't look like the average member of this neighbourhood.

He left across from a bar, ran an appraising eye over the bouncer and smiled, then headed up the street sniffing the air. The scent was strong. He giggled wildly. Very close. The scent was so strong he could see a faint red ribbon in the air before him.

"What will you do, my dear," he murmured softly as he closed in on the source, "When you realise I'm not simply a freak with a mother complex? Ah my dear, dear doctor."

There at a corner store a short Asian man walked off with a bag of groceries. He knew him well. He'd been watching. The second there was police involvement with the murders he'd rooted out everyone on his case – his influence was extensive.

The man was attractive and he had a strong will about him. He likely wouldn't succumb to his eyes so easily. That in itself gave him immense sexual appeal. He headed for an apartment building just up the street.

Glancing over he saw a teenager smoking a cigarette. He walked over, whistling. The teen stared at him. The master removed his glasses as he got close knowing that their true color was likely shining. "Hello my dear," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I need you."

The teen dropped his cigarette. "What th' fuck-" he began to say.

It was too late. The master was close now. His eyes were now a bright, shining gold. "Come to eternity, pet," he said in a lulling voice.

The teenager's will broke easily. It disappointed the master, but he didn't let it bother him. "Yes," the boy murmured.

The master started after his real target. The teen followed.

Hunger rumbled again. Soon Dr. George Huang, the one they needed most for this case, would feel the Embrace and would be thrown head-long into a world like he never knew. He felt himself get harder as he approached. He yearned to smell fear, he yearned to feel his will break and bend to his.

"Yes, Doctor dear..." he laughed, "yes, here I come."