Her lips were smooth marble against his.

"I will love you until the end of my existence," she murmured into his neck. Her arms tightened around his torso and she pushed herself against him as close as she could.

"I will love you just as long," he promised, pulling away from her frigid kisses. When he moved back to her lips he moved against them passionately. Her hands tangled into his hair.

Clinging kisses, soft assurances; hopeless dreams on her part — he had never loved her as more than an escape vehicle.

Hearts still break. She thought bitterly. I know what little he felt for me, and my heart still breaks.

The sun glistened with rain on her eyelashes, making prisms of light that made her wince. Daylight — when all she wanted was the reassurance of not being able to see, and see that blank spot to her left where he always had hunted and traveled.

"I will never leave you," she whispered to him. He smiled the catlike smile she loved and stroked her hair.

"You are mine, little flame," he purred.

"We're perfect," she replied. "With your ability to find the prey, and my ability to escape — we were meant to be."

(Dreams don't come true sweetheart. Didn't anyone ever tell you?)

Nobody ever told her to lock her heart; to leave her hard won trust behind all together. He didn't believe the words he fed her, didn't believe the small gestures that had seemed so spontaneous and sweet at the time.

She loved him. Was it so wrong she wanted him back? Was it too much to ask to have some peace? It was her fault — if she had been able to refuse him anything, she would have come with him to Phoenix and known when it was time to back out.

Maybe she was wrong in her blame, but she couldn't think it was his own fault that he'd died. She should have known he'd leave her like this; he wasn't the type to back out just because something was dangerous.

"I will never forget you," she whispered to the empty room. Everywhere she went, something reminded her of him.

I love you. It's a poor excuse for everything I've done — but it's true.

She needs peace, needs to wipe away the images of him in her head, kissing her with a lie on his lips. They were always looking for different things. She wanted a lover, he wanted a business partner.

If she had been able to continue under the illusion of affection — she wants revenge for the torn facade as much as for the loss of her mate.

Mate — it's an animalistic word that encompassed the violence of her passion. Her attraction was as much love as it was the pull of someone similar and solid. He kept her from slipping into a stone hard hallucination of someone dead.

"Remember when we first met?" He asked her. (She sees now it was just another line from a cheap romance).

"You were hunting," she replied. "And I loved the savageness of the moment more than anything."

Savageness. That is who she is.

Savage love, savage death, savage eyes that falter at nothing.

Torn down, the illusion of perfection hurts too much and brings her to her knees before the memory of her almost lover.


A short little one-shot focusing on James and Victoria. It was heavily influenced by the song "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy. Thanks to j3nn for being a fantastic beta!