Summary: Jozelyn is a daughter of the Scars, a line of Vampire Hunters, that used to be more powerful and famous than even the great Vida line. But she is the last, her whole family killed by revenge-hungry vampires. When she is changed by the moody and mysterious Jager, she vows that she will regain her mortality, and take her revenge from him, along the rest of his leech brethren. But as she will soon find out, her changing is not the only problem she will face. A darker, deadlier force is brewing, involving the Vampire and the Werewolf hunters, as well as their "prey". Jozelyn will find out secrets that were best left hidden in the cloak of night, and yet even more, concerning those that she once hunted.

Prologue

England, 2004

Vampires on one page, werewolves on the other. Each some of the most powerful, and feared of their kind. Leeches and monsters, were all they were to Jozelyn. She skipped the monsters, and began to trail her bright red fingernail down a list of names and aliases. "The Jackal," she whispered to herself. Yes, he was one of the old ones. But not the one she was looking for. "The Tigress," was a new one..."The Demon," she paused. The vampire she was looking for had an alias like that. But no. This one's real name was Aubrey. She continued down the list until she came to one of the last names. "The Devil." The name that Jozelyn's own ancestor had given. And for good reason. He was the ancient enemy of the Scar line, a devil, the Devil, by any other name. He had showed himself to Catara Scar, killed in front of her, tainted her with his filthy kiss, and came back, twenty years later, to murder her in his trademark method, in front of two other Scars. Her daughters. Jozelyn fought down her anger at the memory, and trailed the painted nail over to read the last reported killing identified as his work, and the last sighting. Over four centuries ago. Great. What's to say another family got to him? What's to say he's not just dead from his own kind? She stiffened. What's to say he's not out there right now, stalking the last Scar to put an end to the line? A pale hand on her shoulder made her leap from her chair. She didn't even bring any weapons! How could she be so stupid? She sighed, the fear fading from her eyes and face. She shook herself to slow her heart rate and to filter the adrenaline from her body.

"Madam Orana, you startled me." she said.

"I apologize Jozelyn, but it is past closing time. I did not want to send you away after dark, but..." she gestured at the name in the book. "He is something all Scars have the right to hunt. I did not wish to disturb your research."

Jozelyn nodded, the thought of no weapons and darkness outside making her jumpy again. "Thank you, Madam." She was lucky that the librarian had kept the library open this long. The tomes here were written especially for the extermination of the scum of the night. Any dark creature would love to get ahold of Madam Orana, and set a bonfire to all of these beautiful books.

And as such, it was without offence that Jozelyn stepped out of the building only to have the door slammed behind her, a series of heavy clicks following suite as many locks slid into place. Suppressing a shiver, she opened her arms to organize her research. She'd checked out the book of names and biographies, and stuffed her notes in the book to mark the page that she'd been reading. As she tried to save the papers from being permanently crushed or dog-eared, the sleeve of her red sweater rode up to expose a curious tattoo on the inside of her forearm. It was the crest of the Scars, a terrible black panther, baring its fangs and lunging from the backdrop of a shield, a Latin inscription curling decadently in an arch at the top, and the beast's blood red heart exposed on its muscled chest. Flames erupted from its source, somewhere inside the shield, and they glittered as the pulse underneath the skin there beat strongly. Jozelyn cherished the mark, which was infused with magic ink, and had graced the forearms of her family for centuries, that panther representing the evil that Scars hunted. But the black panther was her favorite animal, and she had redeemed its symbolism by taking it on as her own personal signature. Though it wasn't even that that was reason Jozelyn loved her magic brand. It was the eyes of the black creature, which were a sparkling, jewel-like emerald green, that had always prided her. It was a work of art on her very body. Pulling the sleeve back over her arm, she set off from the front stoop of the library.

At first, she merely mulled over what she currently knew about "the Devil". His real name was Dimitri, and it was the name that he was born to as a mortal. She knew how he killed, and who he killed. She knew he was once one of the most feared of his kind, and his name was known across France, which was his homeland. But where had he gone? Why had he disappeared? And why did the last few sightings of him consist of two other unknown vampires? She gritted her teeth at the vital questions. If only she could find the answer. Killing him would avenge countless Scars, and their failed attempts at finding him and their own revenge. And maybe even her parents...though no. There was no possible way that he could have been there that night. Someone would have seen him...there were witnesses. The sound of a step behind her made her jump. Silently cursing herself for a sign of weakness, she turned to see who it was; only to find no one there. That didn't help her nerves.

She gripped the book tighter and slowly turned around. Keep calm, keep calm, she began repeating to herself, beginning a silent mantra. She put one foot out hesitantly, testing its sound, listening for a second swoosh of misplaced air in sync with it that would tell her someone was following her. Her red and black shoes hit the pavement, making an almost inaudible tap. Silence hung heavy. She began walking again, slowly, her ears strained against the sounds of her own movement. There were the footsteps again; out of sync now, but surely and quickly falling in step. Good thing she wore her running shoes. With skipping motion, Jozelyn's careful gait became a break-neck run. Jozelyn could hear them for sure now. Steps exactly matching hers, stride for stride. She ran, faster, faster, and surely she could have lost them by now. But then, she had already concluded inside herself before the chase began. She wasn't being followed by a human.

She suddenly came to a stop, faster than she had even started running. Jozelyn turned immediately, whispering a few choice words. She was new at this spell, and cursed herself for not remembering it. In fact, she wished she hadn't needed it in the first place. Biting her lip as she searched the darkness, a dagger appeared in her hand. Bright red sparks drifted down from it, creating an eerie glow until they snuffed out on the earth. From the frayed sleeve of her sweater, the glimmer of a silver shield shone phosphorescent in the dark. "Face me now..." she challenged the dark, words sounding ethereal as she spoke them in Latin, her favorite language. She was eager to test her new blade. She had spelled it herself, and wanted very much to witness the results.

A figure appeared from the shadows, his head down. Dark brown locks of hair hung, swaying gently from his lowered head. The shadows played across his dark skin, and Jozelyn shivered despite herself. There was just something about him...She gasped aloud when he raised his head in a purposeful snap, bordering on melodrama. Though the man pulled it off. His face was young, appearing eighteen, and handsome. But none of that concerned Jozelyn at the moment. It was his eyes that had captivated her. Reflective and shimmering, they glinted surreally in the moonlight, just like a cat's. They were emerald green. Like a panther's...like...my panther's!

They were illusions! They had to be! No one had the right to bare those eyes, especially not a leech like him! She turned, her leg flying out in a practiced roundhouse kick, finding him somewhere, but Jozelyn did not see. She was off in a flash, dagger tight in her hand, book in her arm. At least it's not Dimitri, she thought. She forgot to listen for him running, and as she was tensing to turn and fight, a hand flashed out of the nearest alleyway and pulled her in. She muffled a shriek as she began to struggle, her book falling to the ground forgotten, and her dagger catching nonexistent light. He was strong, she noted grimly.

"Unhand me!" she yelled, using Latin once more. It was her best learned language besides English. He did not strengthen his grip nor slacken it, and her wrists began to ache and burn from her struggle. Jozelyn stilled for just a moment and glared. That did the trick. His hold on her loosened just a bit, and she took that moment to break the hand with her dagger in it free. Her blade sliced at his shoulder, which was bare from his shirt. The wound was deep, and blood immediately began to spill from it liberally. But Jozelyn had a secret smile for what happened next. The blood erupted in flame. The vampire hissed, his canines appearing wicked in the trickle of light in the alley. His illusioned eyes flashed violently for a moment, and Jozelyn readied herself for him to attack. But the arm that was burning flashed out, his hand gripping her wrist once more. The blade fell to the ground, spelled silver tinkling on the concrete. Jozelyn winced at the idea of her beloved dagger on the filth and grime that carpeted the alleyway. His other hand gripped her other wrist tighter, pressing it against the bricks against her back, and pinning her more thoroughly to the wall. The vampire looked at the flame that was burning quite merrily on his arm, and it went out. His flesh was scarred, and the wound was still bleeding easily, but he didn't seem to notice. The anger was gone from his eyes, and the snarl and flashing canines were hidden. The face that he directed at Jozelyn was...regretful?

"What do you want?" she asked. This vampire was seriously freaking her out, to use the modern phrase lightly.

He ignored her, his eyes searching her face. She could almost feel them, caressing...she couldn't understand why he was doing this. He leaned closer, still searching. She could feel his breath on her skin, and it made her shiver again. For the first time, she was getting frightened.

"This is my duty..." he said, voice a soft whisper. It calmed her, though she could sense no spell in his voice. He moved his head into her neck, and his lips caressed her throat. She gasped. Was that...a kiss? Kill him! her mind suddenly screamed, Don't let him do this! But she was frozen in her spot. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she bit her lip. Why? Why is he doing this? Why can't she do anything to stop it? ...Why doesn't she want to? She tensed his lips soft on her slightly tanned skin. Could he be so powerful, that he was controlling her without her even knowing? She relaxed again. It was impossible...But just as quickly as she had succumbed to his strangeness, his fangs penetrated her jugular. Then, she did scream. She did struggle, for all she was worth. He dropped her wrists and took grip on her waist, not tight as to be uncomfortable, but so that there was no escape. Her hands flailed and her legs kicked. She twisted her neck, she did anything. Now she knew why he had allowed her to fight so. She knew his intentions. She almost broke lose once, and he pushed her into the wall gently, so that his body pressed against hers. She had no room to move, and the closeness of him made her lose her breath. The pain was overwhelming, and she whimpered, even though she kept fighting. She was losing..."Please..." she choked out, shining tears gathering in her eyes. No Scar in the history of the line had ever been changed. What an end to her great family if she was to become one of their immortal enemies. What a disgrace…The Scars would end with her. Tears fell in glistening rivulets down her face. "Please..." she sobbed. She still struggled, but she was growing weaker. She didn't see the vampire's face contort in pain. He loosened his grip at last. Jozelyn hadn't the strength to break lose and run. With shame heavy in her slowing heart, she fell into darkness with one last thought. She'd failed.

"They're dead, Jozelyn...

"They killed them...in cold blood

"You will avenge them...

"Or die in shame..."

Jozelyn awoke gradually, the dark dream echoing in her head. She recognized it as her Aunt's voice, and the words some that she had tried for years to forget. What luck, that when she finally succeeded, she dreamed them, and the pain of that day came flooding back. The pain of the day her parent's had been found in a London square, bodies drained dry, hideous wounds gracing every inch of their being. With a shake of her head though, the thoughts vanished, as dreams and unwanted memories are wont to do, especially so early in the morning. She yawned and stretched, instantly regretting spending all night at the library, hunched over books.

The library. Everything came flooding back. Her panther's eyes. A deceptive touch. Veins penetrated, her blood draining. With unbearable pain, she recalled tears and failure. "No..." she whispered aloud, and didn't make a move to get up. Why? she screamed inside herself, knowing that by that failure, she had shamed the Scars further. Just die, she willed herself. You're not one of them yet. Die! Die! She held back her tears. She'd never felt so angry at herself, that she could be soiled by her crying in front of that leech...As she lay, wallowing in her own self-pity, a scent came to her nose. Her face relaxed as she breathed it in. Roses... For the first time since she woke, she actually began to feel comfortable. She loved roses.

Now that she thought of it, she was surprised that she had even considered the bed to be her own. It was many times softer than hers, which were practically boards with a mat over them. She moved her hand across the surface of it. Silk. And...velvet? No...She grasped a small object, soft and smooth, and vaguely living. She opened her eyes to look at it. It was a fiery red rose petal. Her favorite color...her favorite flower...even her favorite material. How could he know that? Jozelyn slowly sat up. The whole bed was covered in them...A fine auburn eyebrow rose up as she drunk in the sight. The bed was dressed in black, and the rose petals were spread all over it. In fact, they had even drifted to the middle of the bed, to settle around her form. She tore her gaze away from the bed to the rest of the room. The walls were painted black...the carpet was black...even the vanity on the other side of the room was black. She scowled. Jozelyn hated solid black with a passion. She put her feet on the floor, and was glad to see she was still in her old garments, ratty red sweater and faded jeans not exactly flattering, but working in her favor. Standing up, she balled her hands into fists. The room was making her feel claustrophobic. She walked over to the door, which was, of course, black. Jiggling the doorknob she knew was locked, she backed up. With a bracing of muscles, she aimed a powerful kick at the door. It didn't budge. So, she assumed with annoyance, it had to be spelled.

She rubbed her arm in thought, also casting a surveying look around the room. There just might be something that could help her get out of here. The vanity had nothing on it, and as she tried the drawer, found there was nothing in it as well. There was nothing on the bed, nothing under it. There were no windows, and nothing on the walls, though how she could see in this utter blankness was temporarily beyond her still whirling mind. She did find a black vase on a small table beside the bed, but as there were no flowers, or anything else for that matter, inside of it, she didn't pay much attention. Needless to say, she'd found nothing. With a sighed curse, she sat down on the bed, glowering at the petals, and even trying to hold her breath to keep from smelling them. In any other situation, she would have loved to awake in a bed of roses, softer than any she had ever even dreamed of. What young girl didn't, witch or no? But right now, she knew that she must be every bit the Huntress she was. The weakness that she'd showed in the alleyway was erased, and she didn't intend to succumb to it again.

After a few moments, she got bored. He wasn't going to come back into the room by her just staring at the door. She got up and moved toward it. Raising both hands, she began to pound on the enchanted wood. "Where are you?" she yelled, using Latin. Maybe she could trick him into thinking that was the only language she knew. "Come face me, you leech!" she added, though she figured that he'd already faced her, and won. She frowned. What else could she say to bait him? As she found she could think of nothing, she pounded a few more times for good measure, and turned away from the door. She hadn't enough energy to summon her dagger, but maybe she could break the vanity mirror, and use it as a weapon. Should she get a long enough shard, it would be easy to get it through his heart. But as she moved toward the vanity, something caught her eye. The vase beside the bed was empty before, or so she thought. But now, a single long stemmed rose rested silently against its rim. Jozelyn paused, and squinted. That rose...it couldn't be black could it? There was a legend of black roses, which could only be grown by a vampire, but Jozelyn had never seen one, and so had never believed the stories. Surly, she had to have been right. This flower was just a deep red...

"They are the symbols of vampirism." said a voice. "Black roses...or so they've said."

Jozelyn spun, flinging another of her trademark kicks in the direction that the voice had come from. All she saw was a blur, and the tip of her shoe caught wall. She recovered quickly, and turned to face him. Those same eyes weren't glittering now, at least, from the lack of light in the room, and his dark skin almost had him invisible in the blackness. With a scowl, Jozelyn stared him down. He raised a dark eyebrow, and looked away. So he didn't want to play that game...strange. For a vampire, at least.

"Are you alright now?" he asked.

The nerve..."What do you think?" Jozelyn snapped.

The vampire tilted his head, a strange superior look crossing his face before he snuffed it out. "So you do speak English?" he asked.

Jozelyn cursed herself inwardly. She'd forgotten to speak in Latin. With resolve, she refused to answer his question. He shrugged, trying to act as if it didn't bother him, and he had expected as much. Jozelyn would have thought she'd seen some sadness there, but, as she believed the creatures to be unable to feel such emotions, she didn't. He sighed, twisting his hand in the air, so that with a crack, a small, round cup appeared in his hand. He swirled the contents, looking at it for a moment, and then handed it to her. Jozelyn took it, still eyeing the vampire for any threatening moves. She glanced into the glass and saw a dark, thick red liquid. With a sneer, she deliberately dropped it. The glass bounced silently on the carpet, and the blood spilled out to stain the black darker than it already was. The vampire frowned deeply. Jozelyn wondered if he had actually expected anything else.

"We could do this the easy way, Jozelyn. Or the hard way." he said.

Jozelyn laughed, a loud harsh sound. "Do you know nothing of my family?" she asked, contempt and ridicule powerful in her voice. "Do I dare ask how old you are, to be so foolish?"

His emerald eyes darkened. "You don't. And as for your family, I care nothing for the Scars. As I care nothing for the dead."

Jozelyn would never admit how that one comment cut her, and as her brain processed it, she didn't notice the look of regret that passed over the vampire's face. With another twist of his hand, the glass disappeared from the floor, and a small knife appeared in thin air. He caught it gracefully, his movements calm and calculated like a cats. Or a panther's. The handle of the knife was made of the same silver metal that the blade was, and out of her so slight haze, she saw him slit his wrist. She took a step back as he moved forward. He paused.

"You don't feel it do you?" he asked.

"What?" Jozelyn shook the haze away. She didn't understand what had come over her.

"Your impending death, Jozelyn. This is your only option of survival, for the loss of blood is killing you."

"Liar. I feel fine."

He shook his head. "You feel that way because your mind is shielding you." He laughed. "You hunters thought it was a strength, that in battle, a spell should protect you from feeling pain, or weakness. But as long as that spell is in power, you never know how close you are to death until it is already too late."

"Such stories." Jozelyn replied, watching the wound that had been dripping blood heal over.

"Yes. Such stories. But if you doubt them, test it for yourself."

The young English huntress did not trust him for all he was worth. But she had also learned never to trust her Aunt when the woman had taught her about the spells that had been cast to make the Scars more efficient hunters. She had a knack for making them sound more harmless than they were.

"How do you know so much about me?" She found herself asking instead.

He smiled. He had a very charming smile. "Let's save that for another time."

With a scowl, Jozelyn relaxed her muscles. She cleared her mind of any threats or fighting techniques, which was something she'd done very few times in her life. She could feel the built up power slowly draining away, and as it did, it was replaced by a biting cold. Jozelyn found herself shivering, and soon, gasping. It hurt to draw breath and her head began to pound. As her legs gave way, she knew he had to have tricked her somehow. But before she hit the ground, she found herself in the vampire's arms. She tried to squirm away, disgusted by the closeness. The closeness she had been enchanted by only hours before.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked, locking her gaze.

She answered by gasping. She'd lost all the strength that she'd thought she'd had. Was she really this close to dying?

"Please. I can save you...All you have to do--"

Jozelyn shook her head. "I'll kill myself." she said.

"No. You won't." He brought the knife over to his wrist and cut it again.

I can't, Jozelyn thought. I have to make this choice. I can't do this.

"Please. Just live, and then you can do whatever you decide."

I'll survive...I'll find a way to get my mortality back...then I'll kill this leech, like the Vampire Hunter I am...I'm suppose to be.

She licked her lips and settled them over his wound. She caught his eyes flutter, almost in pleasure, and it made Jozelyn cringe. His blood was bittersweet, tainted with death and magic. At first it made her retch, but she forced her self to keep drinking. She realized that the cold was leaving her, and as it did, she began to get light-headed.

"That's it..." whispered the vampire. He held her gently, his wrist settled softly over her lips, so that she could stop anytime she wanted. But she couldn't. As his blood filled her, she lost all sense of reason. For a moment, her family, her revenge, her mortality, nothing seemed to matter. Only this wrist and the dark fluid that filled her. His face faded, and the black in front of her eyes started to spin. She wasn't sure whether it was the color of the room, or her nearing unconsciousness. Her eyes slid closed, and as he removed his wrist, she blindly clutched at it. She couldn't see, but that single action made him frown deeply. He lifted her and settled her on the bed. She acknowledged the sweet scent of roses before she was lost to nothingness.

When she came to, the first thing she saw was the vampire sitting on the edge of the bed. She jerked instinctively away from him, and was startled by the crunching noises. She glanced around and saw that the rose petals were all dead. For a moment, she was mesmerized by the way they had changed. From velvet and bright red, to shriveled and sickly brown. With a glance at her new sire, she wondered if the change might have spilled over. When before he had been somewhat...sensitive, if the word could be used to describe a vampire. But now, as she studied his face, she saw that his demeanor was more...subdued. Grim, even.

"You need to feed." he said, standing up and moving across the room. Jozelyn watched in annoyance as he fingered the petals of the black rose, which had survived where the red petals had not. Talk about mood swings. He turned to her, the top part of his face the only part of him she could see. She looked behind her and saw that the solid black wall from earlier now had an open window. With black curtains, of course. She turned back to him, about to ask what the deal with this room was, but something was so different about his face, that she decided not to say anything. Moonlight that streamed in from the window somewhat increased the darkness of the shadows in the room, and when it caught his eyes, they reflected so brightly that Jozelyn really didn't want to look at them. They reminded her of a wild animal, and she finally understood why her ancestors chose one to represent his kind.

"I have rules for that," Jozelyn said in answer to his statement.

"Really..." he moved, so that the lights that were his eyes went out.

"Yes. No witches and no civilians." She couldn't handle the thought of him making her feed on one of her kindred. Or anybody else, for that matter, but she had survived thus far, and she might as well continue.

He stepped forward, so that she could see his face clearly. He smirked. "Agreed." he said, and before Jozelyn could react, he had her by the arm and the room began to drift away to mist. The mist faded back into another room, this one concrete and dark. Jozelyn jerked her arm out of the vampire's grasp. His eyes were glowing again. He was unnerving; she had to give him that. She soon wrinkled her nose, as the smell of alcohol and vomit registered in her brain. Looking around, she saw that they were in a prison cell. A local one at that. What she smelled was the pick-ups from the local pubs.

"What--" she began, but he waved her off. She looked to the corner, and saw a man huddled there, staring at them curiously. He obviously hadn't seen how they arrived, but he just as obviously didn't care. In his drunken mind he saw a way of escape, never mind that ever so slight possibility they were policemen. He stood up and with a slurred cry, he rushed at Jozelyn. She scowled at him, ready to bat him away like a fly, but her sire was there in a flash, hand gripping the human's arm so tight he cried out. Jozelyn heard something crack. The vampire leaned forward and whispered in the man's ear. "Sleep," and the man fell limp. He tossed him to her like a rag doll and Jozelyn grunted and she caught him.

"What are you getting at?" she snapped. He didn't have to break the man's arm.

"Feed." was all he said, as he leaned against the stone wall and crossed his arms and legs. He looked so casual that Jozelyn gaped for a moment.

"I said no civilians." she snapped.

"He's not."

"He's just a drunk. That's not grounds enough to kill him."

The vampire smiled again. "Feed," he repeated.

Jozelyn glared a moment longer. "Who are you?" she blurted out.

That smile again. "I am Jager."

The Jackal, flashed through Jozelyn's mind. Still shaken up from that, she turned to the sleeping body in her arms. The smell from him was horrible, and she was almost unsure of what to do. She'd seen vampires feeding, but never actually tried it herself. Which was a good thing, she considered. She threw back the man's head and stared that the throbbing pulse in his throat. It was then that Jozelyn had her first case of bloodlust. The vampires had dubbed it "The Scarlet Desire" and as it ripped through her mind, she understood every bit of its suggestive name. She felt her canines lengthening into sharp fangs, and before she could consider the exact location of the jugular, she had already bitten into it, and the man's life blood flowed sweetly into her mouth. Images flashed across her eyes, young women screaming, begging, dying, bleeding. The man was a rapist and a murderer...unconsciously, she began chewing on the wound she'd made, making it bigger, blood flowing faster and thicker into her hungry mouth. Jager eased himself off the wall, worry beginning to creep itself into his cold expression. His trained ears heard the man's heart slow and stop. Yet Jozelyn still clung to him, chewing and begging more blood to flow into her. Jager moved forward to and eased the man out of her arms. The ex-huntress growled hopelessly, bloodlust still fiery on her mind, but slowly fading.

"He's done, Jozelyn. Let him go."

Jozelyn started, dropping the man to the floor. A cold fear slivered into her heart, like a poisonous slimy creature, and she began to tremble. Her eyes swept over the body, cold and lifeless, with a terrible red wound on his neck. Jager gave her a concerned look before bending down and slicing his throat all the way across with a knife that had appeared out of nothing, as they were apt to do around him.

"Calm down," he said, standing up. "It's nothing. Most lose control on their first feed. Now come on..." he eased his hand out, seeing if she wanted to resist. Her mind still felt numb, and she couldn't stop shaking. She reached out herself and clutched Jager's shoulder. She wanted more than anything to get out of this cell. He was surprised, and more so concerned, but he nonetheless transported them back to her room. He eased away from her and began to walk out of the room.

"Wait..." her voice called out hesitantly. He did stop, but he didn't remove his hand from the knob.

"I..." now that she'd stopped him, she couldn't think of anything to say. She could smell her own fear, a sour sweet scent that she knew filled his senses too. Knew by the way he was tensed and distant, as if her fear aroused him. She wanted Jager to stay, to explain to her that the next time would be different, that she wasn't a monster. But the knowledge that he was came drifting back to her, and all words froze on her tongue.

"We leave tomorrow for America. I'll take you." he said, breaking the silence. He was out the door with it closing behind him before his words found Jozelyn. She stared, because as he'd closed the door, the window had disappeared, reminding her of the mysteries she'd failed to solve. She fumbled her way to the door, still unused to the night vision that vampires possessed. She pounded on the door.

"Come back!" she cried. "Jager...please...come back." her voice faded off into the darkness as she fell back onto the bed. With hopeless sobs, she let tears fall that she didn't knew she had.