And Jared is number two.

[slashmaster]

I stood there, naked and alone on some unknown street, ignoring the biting cold of winter and its customary frost, which stung my toes harshly with unseen teeth. Hunger had settled, a cold fire, in my stomach, singing my very veins, so that my very breath sent searing agony though me, making me tremble, turning me into something lesser, a hollow shell of a man. I staggered blindly about for a short while, rasping, shaking, wondering what had become of me and what I was to do, wanting nothing but for the pain to end. Without having been informed I knew what it was by instinct – starvation. It was the sort of starvation a vampire must endure and a vampire alone, insatiable, reoccurring twice as often as mortal hunger and a thousand times more terrible. My strength was drained from me quickly and soon I could only crawl, hand over hand, in the snow and ice. Delirious, I trembled, lonely and cold, so cold I could feel nothing but the pain, raw as a whip crack with every slight movement. My mouth ached, my teeth throbbed, my head and gut felt as if they were being crushed between the deadly jaws of a vise.
Finally I could endure it no longer, and I collapsed, a quivering mass of frozen, pallid flesh, retching on air. There was nothing left to hold onto, nothing to withstand the torture. The wounds on my neck stung like burn marks. The icy draft brought me no relief from the hell fires stirring up inside of me and devouring me wholly, sinner as I was.
It was worse than dying. It was worse than anything – worse than losing Gabriel, worse than the emptiness that came with death, worse than the hell I had put myself through so long ago in mortal youth. And I thought I should do nothing more than lay there and shrivel up on myself like a smoldering corpse and rot into the ground and never emerge. I lost my face in my hands and cried.
I wept for everything. For Gabriel, for myself, for the vampire that had changed me, whatever her name might have been, for those I had once loved, for those I would never love, for Dianna, for all vampires and their eternal hell that was life, a life I had never understood until now, the pain, tightening like a belt, clip for clip, suffocating me.
Just as I thought I had reached my last threshold, just as I thought I would die again and this time forever, I felt a gentle palm on my shoulder, a warm shock in the frozen flames of starvation. I was too weak to look up, but I heard a voice whispering, “What has become of you?”
I moaned into the ground and couldn’t muster the strength to reply.
“I know what you are,” the voice said, gathering me up into firm and real arms, and I wanted that comfort more than anything. “You must be very new. Your skin is still that of the new. Your teeth?”
I didn’t pull away as a pair of fingers wedged between my lips and parted them. Flesh brushed my tongue, a suggestive and vulgar motion, but it was accidental, I thought. My savior proceeded to feel the slowly sharpening tips of my canines.
“Hardly any change at all.”
I whimpered, wishing to be left on the ground to die.
The voice seemed oblivious to my anguish. “What is it? How long have you been this way?”
I found myself unable to think of an answer even if I had wished to reply with it. I forced my eyes open and gazed blearily into the face, sexless, for now, so that I could not tell who or what held me – male or female, fair or cruel, mortal or vampire? But I didn’t care, then, and only wanted their comfort. It seemed they understood.
“You haven’t drunk before, have you? Or are you preparing to commit suicide so early? I’ve never seen such despair from one so young.”
I made a faint noise, seeking unconsciousness, and they lifted me easily; I wondered how light I was. They carried me, I wasn’t sure where, and soon I found myself lying on something soft, a couch, perhaps, or a bed or rug, beside a fire. I buried my face in the warmth, welcoming it, tasting the sour residue of hunger in my mouth.
My savior was upon me, stroking me, murmuring sweet comforting words to me that didn’t quite reach the mind but were soothing nonetheless. If I had had the ability, I would have leaned into the hand that ran over my exposed skin like one would pet a cat.
“You are cold to the touch, as good as dead,” they said and laughed, and the voice was becoming clear, unmistakably male, and with the measured calculation of an immortal. I felt more at ease knowing this.
Lips brushed my temple; fingertips slid through my hair, a lithe jungle cat weaving through the underbrush. I shuddered and moaned, a sharp arousal stabbing at my insides.
“Can I trust you to remain while I bring you life?” he whispered to me, with a painful sensuality, and I managed to nod.
Fingers trailed down my neck, over my bare chest and stomach, slipping smoothly over my thighs. Then the hands went away. The voice went away. There was nothing but the growing agony of starvation and the crackling of a fire lit nearby, and that crackling of the hell fires inside of me that would never fade.

[Robin]

Have I seen this before? I think I saw where Jared brought Lewis a victim.

"which stung my toes harshly with unseen teeth."

Too matter-of-fact. Usually Lewis is all 'show show show argghhh emotions', not 'yeah this is what happened, bitch-hoe, and don't make a fuss. '

"Delirious, I trembled, lonely and cold, so cold I could feel nothing but the pain, raw as a whip crack with every slight movement."

I don't know if you need the delirious at the beginning of this. I mean, you need something there, but delirious doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the sentence.

"The wounds on my neck stung like burn marks"

I'd switch the wounds and marks. 'The marks on my neck' 'burn wounds.' it just works better.

" I would have leaned into the hand that ran over my exposed skin like one would pet a cat."

Sort of a confusing sentence. I'm not sure how you could make it clearer without making it a huge confusing sentence, though.

And the ending is good, as always.