Sonnet of Loveless Words

Me: Hello again!

Okay, if you haven't read Resurrected, the story works on the principle that Neferet is a part of Nyx (the evil part), and is an immortal spirit, but needs a human host, aka a body, taking over a girl called Laila at Marking. When Loren Blake attempts to imprint with Neferet 14 years later, he imprints with this other girl instead, and chaos ensues.

Without a doubt the most confusing love triangle you will ever see.

Thank you to my beta Tsuki-Himitsu, especially for putting up with my "ands after commas"... :D

Titled as such because a sonnet is traditionally used in Shakespeare when the male confesses his love. They're conventionally full of love and praise etc... But a sonnet of loveless words is an oxymoron. Plus Loren cant confess his love can he... So it's a sonnet with loveless words. (Thanks T-H!)

There's a video for this fic, check out my YouTube channel (Seryphael) to see it!!!

Let me hold you for the last time
It's the last chance to feel again
But you broke me, now I can't feel anything

When I love you and so untrue
I can't even convince myself
When I'm speaking it's the voice of someone else

"Broken Strings" ~ James Morrison

& Nelly Furtado

"Who are you?"

She looked at him blankly, in the same way one might look at a crush from across a busy street or square. Making out his figure through the hustle of moving bodies, watching the expression on his face, wishing beyond wishing that one day he would know who she was.

This just wasn't the way she would have wanted him to find out.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his face not quite murderous. Hard, callous, unyielding, his eyes so cold that he was probably trying to see if he could kill her just by looking at her. Every time he did, she could see cruel intention in them, and then anger, annoyance. Danger and blackness filled him like hot tar poured into potholes to smooth an otherwise perfect road. There was hate too. It made her feel tiny.

Her legs felt like jelly beneath the sheets of the bed, tucked beneath her where they were starting to get pins and needles. It barely mattered. A part of her hoped so dearly that Neferet would wake again soon and she wouldn't have to answer his questions. It was just easier that way.

When one is Marked as a vampyre fledgling, the world is not supposed to go black around you. You aren't supposed to fall asleep, faint, or black out. You aren't supposed to remain so for the rest of your life.

At first, that was what she thought had happened all those years ago. Had she been out in the light too long? It was dark, blurry, fuzzy, and unfathomable. She knew what it was to black out, or rather to be knocked out. You didn't even notice that you weren't still conscious until you began to come around. All of this was similar. She was conscious, definitely conscious, definitely alive, so why couldn't she move? Or talk?

The spirit did not make itself known to Laila for a long time.

She might as well have been in post-vegetative state for all her life was worth now. Everything she had was gone. Her life had been unbearable before why did it have to be this way? Why couldn't something go right for her, just a tiny little something, anything, anything that convinced her she wanted to wake up the next time her mind lay cold and dormant enough to be called sleeping?

Laila knew what she was going to do. She was going to do it before she was Marked, and never even got the chance. Never even had the one opportunity to make it all end. She didn't have a life. That was not a life. It was an empty shell, caving in for the lack of all the things that should have made its existence worthwhile. A black hole filled with violence and torture. The one thing she had, that should have enabled her to free herself from this merciless nightmare was her capacity. If she had still been in charge, she would have freed herself, years ago. And she couldn't even do that.

Laila wanted to cry.

She was at it again. It was a she, her name was Neferet. Sometimes Laila would catch a glimpse of a woman with long black hair and red lips, her skin whiter than death itself. Neferet was her now. There was no Laila.

The only evidence that she still existed at all, that she hadn't faded away into the nothingness of the void, was pain. Laila had no body with which to live nor die, no mind, at least not one of her own. But she did feel. She felt everything. Everything she touched, leant on, sat on, lay on. Even though she could not always understand why the spirit did what she did on a day to day basis, Laila could still see through her eyes, and feel through her heart. You can take away someone's mind but you can never take away their heart. And you can't take away their soul.

He broke through her thoughts again, looking upon her as if she were a science experiment. "Are you deaf? I want to know who, what you are!!!"

"I'm..." she began, the sound of her own voice out of her own mouth making her shake, "I'm not sure anymore..."

Then she felt a horrible twisting of disgust. It wasn't hers, however. It was his. She might once have cried, but Laila had run out of tears a long time ago. She didn't want to be able to feel his heart, hear into his mind.

His name was Loren. Beautiful, talented, but one of the blackest hearts she had ever witnessed. Anything that had once been good and rational was long gone, swallowed up by a grey cloud. He was truly, a nasty piece of work. Malicious, ambitious, so consumed by these traits that what he would do to get somebody out of his way was anyone's guess. He was the kind of person that she would happily have seen behind bars for the remainder of his life, suffering, simply for the pain that she knew all too well that he could cause. Sitting across the bed from him now, she felt like she was in the sole company of a convicted murderer.

And there they sat. It had started when he first arrived; when Neferet took a fancy to him herself. It was all about sex, shameless, nothing else, it was simple really. Laila supposed she should have seen it coming the moment he walked through the doors. The nature of their relationship wasn't worth thinking about, in all except one aspect. It was like a little silver string between them, cutting like wire, holding like steel. Laila didn't understand how it could even happen. She hadn't caused it to happen so why was it happening? Why was she just a toy for other people? A pawn? Who, somewhere up there, had decided that she deserved this?

Imprints were tricky. Most were petty and lasted all of five minutes, they were basic, evolved through natural selection to ensure that the vampyre could survive. No imprints that Neferet had created had ever affected Laila before. It was like being on a fishing line, being reeled upwards towards the light by this silver thread. Breaking to the surface, and finally breathing in air for yourself for the first time in fourteen years. Switching places with Neferet. How good it is to flex your own fingers, to fidget when you're uncomfortable, to shake your hair out of, or into your face when you wanted to.

It didn't happen so easily though. Despite imprinting with Loren, she could only regain consciousness during sex, when their connection was at its zenith. At first it had been for a mere precious few seconds, and then gradually for longer and longer. That was where Laila found herself now. Still feeling unclean from the activity, she could sit, she could breathe, she was where she had wanted to be for a long time. So why couldn't she move now? The connection would fade soon, and she would be Neferet again.

Loren tutted, wiping his dark fringe from his mahogany eyes. "You're not Neferet." He said disdainfully.

"No." She uttered.

"Then why are you possessing her?"

"She is possessing me."

The anger in Loren's eyes went from bad to worse as he realised that he had not imprinted with Neferet at all. All the pleasure he wanted to give Neferet, not even reaching her.

"This only happens when we are together."

Loren's hard glare beamed into the opposite wall. "I don't believe it..." he muttered. "And I don't believe you."

Laila closed her eyes. "I'm not lying." She said, so quietly he could barely hear it. He sighed. The truth was that on his end of the thread, he knew better than to contradict.

"What? Are you just gonna sit there?"

She wrinkled the sheets in her fist. "What else can I do?"

"Then why don't you run?" he asked, "Why don't you go as far away as you can?"

"Don't you think I would throw myself off the nearest bridge if I thought I could?"

He sneered. "Why would you do that?"

She glared at him, her knuckles turning white against the sheet. "Why do you think you idiot???"

Loren blinked a few times, not even at her response particularly, but at the horrifying waves of sadness, powerlessness and anger that shot down that silver thread, like he was holding the one end of a cup-and-string telephone and the person on the other end was screaming down it. It was a bloodcurdling scream, a shriek that went unheard in the middle of a black night; his blood turned to ice in his veins. It was worse than anything he had ever heard, ever felt in his ear. It was the scream of someone dying.

And for the first time in his life, he felt rooted to the spot.

She closed her eyes painfully and, finally, loosed the sheets from her grasp. Fighting the vile empty sensation that she would be sick, she shuffled herself down and laid her head against the pillow, pulling her knees up as far as she could, the skin of her arm tingling as it lay against the cold mattress. For this he was exceptionally grateful, because he was entirely sure that it was her tear that was running down his cheek. He wiped it away almost violently, trying to clear his mind of this madness. The muscles along his jaw tensed and he suddenly began to dress himself again, as if, somehow, it would have erased the fact that this had ever happened. Laila let cold wash over her as she heard him slamming the door behind him, and knew nothing more.

Loren huffed to himself as he paced back down the dark corridor to his loft, repeating what he knew over and over in his head. Why would Neferet need to possess somebody? This was pissing him off – he had noticed this other persona before, during and very shortly after sex, and he had shrugged it off, but this was the first time he had held a conversation with 'it'. He had also been aware, after a while, that he had imprinted with someone, and that someone was not Neferet. Reaching his door, he jammed the key into the lock and jerked it, slamming it shut and kicking it for good measure.

It was three pm, and the sunlight beaming in through the window did nothing for his mood. Marching for the blinds string with a vengeance he yanked them shut, trying to relax in the dark. He dropped himself into his desk chair and began to work his way through essays that didn't need to be marked until the end of the week.

There was a knock at his door. Before he could answer however, it opened. Neferet leant around the door frame and gave a sly little smile. Closing the door silently behind her, she swayed her way over to him and draped her hands over his shoulders.

"I thought you were staying with me tonight..." she said, simpering into his ear.

"I had some marking to finish." He said, taking her left hand in his, "My apologies my Queen, if I disturbed you as I left."

She wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. "My apologies, I did not mean to fall asleep." She said coolly. Even the sound of her voice sent shivers down his spine. She was beautiful, foreboding and powerful, and Loren loved powerful women. "Come back with me?"

He ran his hands over her arms and turned his face towards hers seductively. "If you can explain to my students, why their essays are late."

"I should think that could be arranged."

Smiling, he followed her back to her own quarters. Whilst following her shapely figure through the corridors Loren wondered if Neferet even knew about this other persona coming through. He opened his mouth to tell her everything, but shut it again very quickly. What would she do if she knew he hadn't told her before? Maybe it wouldn't happen again. He was the last person to underestimate Neferet's power, if Neferet thought there was something wrong, she would sort it.

He hoped, for his own sake.

Loren let out a groan and felt his body go weak. This was so twisted – so horribly twisted; he even climaxed harder with her as opposed to Neferet, and why simply defied logic altogether. While most of him enjoyed it immensely, his mind was reeling in disgust.

This still hadn't stopped. It kept happening, every time, every single frickin' time they had sex. One moment it would be Neferet, the next it would be someone else entirely. Ridiculous as it sounded, Loren knew when and he knew exactly. Even when she began pretending to still be Neferet to avoid scrutiny, he knew. Her thoughts and feelings bounced off the insides of his skull like a million tennis balls, giving him a headache. He hated it. And he hated her. Loren could describe his initial attraction to Neferet as a thrill, a rush of adrenalin. So why was he finding thrill in this other person? It was like his body had taken on a mind of its own and stopped his rational mind all together, his heart leapt out of his chest at her, yet he consciously fought to reel it back in. He loathed this Imprint. He hated how he couldn't control the glow, the arising contentment he felt when he felt it was her and not Neferet. He waited for the euphoria inside him to fade. Thankfully, this was only to be the last time.

Sneaking around in the library was not a particularly easy task, especially not in a school, but he had just about managed it. On the floor at the side of the bed, lay a small bottle full of black liquid. Poison. The tiniest amount would kill in seconds when drunk, it could murder within minutes if absorbed through the skin, but it only drove out the soul, leaving the body intact. It was a liquid exorcism. It would leave only what he wanted; Neferet.

He took deep breaths as the euphoria lasted longer than it should, and looked down at Laila – that was her name. She had told him, not long ago, but that simple word had infected him. What's in a name? So much so that sometimes he couldn't stop himself from uttering it as he lost himself in her...

Loren shuddered with fury.

This had to stop.

Lowering his right arm, as if searching for something on the floor. Seemingly having found it he raised his arm again, death nestled in the palm of his hand.

Laila's eyes darted from his own, to the bottle of dark liquid in his hand, then back to his again. Something wasn't right – there was no horror, no scream of terror, no fear in them. His grip on the bottle tightened as he realised that they were begging him. Tears leaked and dampened her face.

"Do it." she said, gripping onto his arms.

Amidst his bad temper, Loren managed to blink with disbelief.

"Please..." she pleaded, more tears falling, "Let me go, please..."

He froze. "Wha...?" he murmured, his eyes searching her again.

"Loren please!" she cried, interrupting him, "This is all I ask, this is all I've ever asked!!! If you do one thing for me, one tiny thing, one good thing in your life, I don't want to live like this anymore!!! Please just let me be free!!!"

Loren's chest began to heave as he lay on top of her, still inside her, the poison in his hand. Just one little motion and she would be gone, dead, leaving only Neferet in her place. These emotions, her emotions, she genuinely wanted to die...

And finally the floodgates opened. Every single one of her thoughts, her feelings, rushed into him like water breaking through a dam, the sheer weight of them crushing him and breaking him into a thousand pieces. They wove their way into his soul like the poison would work its way through her blood, staining every part of it bright red. Loren had never felt so much pain, his body shook, he leant his head on his shoulder as he withheld a whimper. Nothing had ever hurt like this. He let the tears slide down his cheeks. But this time, these were not her tears in his eyes, they were his own, leaking out, a tiny representation of the flood inside him. He knew now. He finally understood what it was to take a life.

He felt Laila's hands on his face, lifting it from her shoulder so she could look into it. Those eyes...

"Just kill me." She whispered, "Loren... Just do it..."

Loren raised his arm, lifting his hand higher, ready to shatter it in her face...

"I can't."

The bottle tumbled to the carpet below.

He leant his head below her chin and wept. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's not fair... It would all be in vain..."

He shivered as she ran her fingers into his hair. "But I don't want to fight anymore." She sobbed.

"You shouldn't die never having been happy."

She sniffed and smiled through her tearstained face. "I'm happy you care."

He tried to make himself be still. "I don't... It's all a stupid Imprint... But you can't throw your life away."

"What if the grass really is greener?"

"What if it isn't? You don't know!"

"Neither do you. I would ask you what it felt like to hate your life so much that you would prefer death, whatever it was good or bad just for a change, because that's how much life hurts, that you're willing to gamble. But you know now." She said, "Like I know you now. You've done the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. But something made those reasons. You can't live your life in someone else's shadow."

Loren felt his anger re-emerge. "How can you look at me like I'm an innocent man? Like what I've done, what I am, like that doesn't matter???"

"It's all a stupid Imprint. It doesn't matter, even if we want it to."

"Why don't you ever fight me??? You lie here and, and basically get raped again and again and you don't ever, fight, you don't even try..."

"And you need someone to fight you."

Loren didn't answer.

"That's why you like powerful women." She said, "You like conquering people who have a fighting chance. And when you succeed, it justifies that what you're doing must be right because they aren't fighting, telling you what you're doing is wrong and setting you on the right track. You talk about me giving up my life but have you ever looked at yours?" Again, he didn't answer, and she bit her lip, "And if I fight... If I fight for anyone, I'll fight to put you on that right track. I'm lost Loren, I can't live again, but you, you still can. Maybe that's worth fighting for."

He looked away from her. "Is it?"

"You tell me. I want something good to become of my life. It's where we're similar; both of us need someone to fight for us, to get us out of these holes we're in."

"Why would you fight, for me?"

"Why did you drop that bottle?"

"I..." he began, "I don't want you to just give up."

"Tell me how and I won't."

Loren was choking. "I'm the wrong man to ask."

"Well you're all I have." She knew what he meant. The part of him that was evil, that strong sheet that covered up everything underneath – it wasn't steel, it was ice. Thick treacherous ice that made people slip, trip, fall, freeze but most of all it made people hurt. Ice that was, very slowly, melting.

"If I do one good thing..." he said, his fringe falling in his eyes, "I'll fight for you too."

She wiped the stray strands away. She was lost now, why did he even want to fight for her? "Why? She'll kill you."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "I don't know why." He said, leaning down and kissing her softly. How had he managed to be reduced to an emotional wreck? He rocked his hips gently, kissing deeper as he felt himself become hard again. She shuddered, before pulling away.

"She won't be able to feel it." she said.

Loren lowered himself and kissed her neck, tracing onto her left shoulder. "I want you to feel it."

Laila laughed, actually laughed, for the first time in fourteen years, a bright laugh that sounded like bells ringing a thousand melodies. "What's got into you?"

"You tell me." He said, "What's got into you?"

She gave a shifty glance down. "You tell me."

"I will."

She laughed out loud again. "Loren..." she said, "You weren't the wrong man to ask."

Oh, it tears me up
I tried to hold on but it hurts too much
I tried to forgive but it's not enough
To make it all okay

Let me hold you for the last time
It's the last chance to feel again.

R&R!