Hello my dears! Back again with another fanfic XD I need to finish my others first I know, buuut well I'm far from perfect. This fanfiction will have dark themes and cover some horrible facts of life, but it is first and foremost a story of fiction. The whole point is that two people who have gone through hell can heal each other and find love.

Summary: Dior, named after the hair of golden yellow he was born with, was raised all his life by his loving mother. Though she showered him with affection their life was far from easy, as she worked in a brothel selling every piece of herself just to keep them somewhere safer than the streets. Until one day he is forced to leave due to some extenuating circumstances, he is found and left for dead in the snow.

On the brink of death, and bleeding out in a field of white, he is found by a shifter. A special race of humans that hide to stay alive. But this shifter, Balfour, has dark secrets of his own; and though he saves Dior's life and helps him gain strength, can the two of them save each other from their own demons? Or will the ever looming darkness consume them?

Chapter One; Close to Death

Pain echoed through every pore in Dior's body, even as the cold, bitter winter night started to numb his appendages, he could feel the endless throbbing pain. There was not a spot on him that didn't hurt. The blows that he'd been dealt were purple and swollen even though the snow was icing the wounds, his left eye was puffy and squeezed his eye lid shut, plus he could feel the split in his lip even after it stopped bleeding. But the ache's of his face were nothing to that of his body, with each breath pain pierced through his side so he was sure he had a broken rib – maybe two. That was the least of it, however, after the first few gut wrenching blows he'd lost count of how many times the goons had kicked him. He felt like they'd hit him with more than just their fists and feet, too.

And yet, that wasn't the worst of it.

After the goons had beaten him nearly an inch from death, when all he could do was silently beg for death while they wailed on him, they took it a step further and decided to have their way with his fightless body. Dior hadn't realized what was happening until it was too late, and then he hoped the cold ache would make him numb to what would happen. But the pain was much worse than he'd ever expected. All he could do was cry and beg them to stop.

Dior wasn't sure how long he'd laid there, beaten and bloody, nor was he sure exactly what part of his soul would not give up and let him die there. But, somehow, he found himself limping – horribly – through the dense snow. Where he was going he had no clue, just trying to get as far away from the place that haunted his dreams as he could. His clothes torn and barely covering his bruised and bloodied flesh, the cold biting away at his flesh – which had begun to turn blue at his fingers and toes. Yet he found himself still moving forward. It was as though he wasn't controlling his own body, that he was more watching himself trek through the snow up the hilly-mountain side, just waiting to see himself die.

Luck, Fate, or perhaps even Destiny would not let him die this night. In the cold, moonless night, just ahead of him in the distance he could barely see the glow of a lantern. Warmth, safety, lie just ahead. Maybe it was the thought of relief that did it, but his legs collapsed beneath him without a second thought. Falling to the snow he could barely let out the whimper of pain that vibrated through his body as he hit the ground. Fighting the darkness of unconsciousness as it began to close around him, he wondered if he would die out here in the snow just a couple of feet away from sanctuary.

Time stood still, or that's how it felt as thoughts slowly started to fade back in. His body still felt like it was suspended in a dark body of water, at first he couldn't feel anything, not even the fear of death. Dior just was, in that singular moment, he just was there floating in darkness thinking nothing. Until warmth started to flood into his empty void, filling it mind with colors of red, orange, and yellow as he thought of fire surrounding him, bringing him back to life. Or so it had felt. Though he still couldn't move Dior could tell he was alive, by the familiar pain that started to throb once again. Though it felt a little less, as though it was trying hard to distract him from the comfort that was trying to surround him. Warmth on his right side was closer than his left, and he felt like he was laying on a bed of feathers, but his eyes would not listen to him and open so he remained still.

Breathing slow and even, shallow as any deep breaths brought back the pain in his side, he faded back into blackness, but this time it felt easier – gentler even. As though the world of dreams welcomed him.

…

Dior was sitting in the same chair by the window that he spent so much of his childhood nights looking out onto the city. At night the connecting roofs with the lanterns glowing a perfect red would make the entirety look like scales on a dragon's back weaving left and right throughout the streets. And as a child he would wonder if things such as dragons could ever, or had ever, exist. As he turned his head to look around the room he grew up in, everything looked he same as he remembered it from so many years ago. Although he knew right away it was a dream, for there was no way he could be back here in this room with it this way, he didn't question it. He just took the minute he had in the place he loved, a place that belonged to the only person who had ever loved him.

In the next moment there she was, kneeling before him asking him what he was thinking. Dior was the spitting image of his mother, or so others had said before, but every time he would look at her he just saw the women who sacrificed everything to keep him safe. Even as a young child he knew she did unspeakable things for him, and he tried everything he could to be a good son for her.

Her golden locks were tied loosely to the side, and her bangs side swept trying to hide the black eye that was clear and dark against her pale skin. Her blue eyes, that were just a few shades lighter than Dior's, showed even more brightly against the darkening blue of the bruise. As a child he never understood why she would let men beat on her, even if she always claimed it was for him, why would they bother living here if she was being treated this way. But as an adult he understood all to well.

"Whats wrong, little DiDi?" His mother's soft voice called to him, echoing as if she was speaking through a wall of water. Why was it so hard to remember what she sounded like? Her hand came up to pat him on the head, but for some strange reason he could not feel the warmth of her touch.

Dior opened his mouth to speak, and though he could feel it moving he heard no words form from his lips. His heart started to race, why was this dream acting so strange? Hundreds of times he had dreams of his mother, but never like this.

Fear began to darken the room as the corners of the ceiling began to twist and close in on him. Dior tried to move, to tell his mother they needed to get out of here, but his child body wouldn't leave the chair.

Suddenly loud bangs echoed from the door, as the red wood – hand carved piece began to grow in size with each massive thud. Dior found it hard to catch his breath, as though something was wrapping tightly around his chest pressing in on him.

His mother was at the door as he turned to look, her small shoulders seeming smaller than he remembered, her voice a distant echo as she spoke to the dark figure behind the door. Glowing white eyes was all he could see, looking from above her head. Fear flooded in faster, as he could feel his breath quicken and hitch.

'Dior.' His name echoed in the room so loud he thought his ears might bleed. 'Dior.' His eyes turned back to his mother, who was looking over her shoulder at him. Slowly she turned, as if standing on a rotating block but not actually moving herself. 'Dior' she called again, her voice changing with each call as though his mind couldn't find the right pitch to match the memory. Her arm slowly began to lift, a shaving knife in her hand, the dark figure behind her with glowing white eyes cupped her hand and helped her bring it to her neck. Dior felt like he couldn't breathe.

'Dior, why?' His mother asked as her hand slowly started to press the knife into her own neck. 'Why didn't you save me?' The dark, claw like hand, dragged his mothers hand- and the blade- across her pale skin as blood began to pour out.

It started as a drip from the slit, but then it began to flow in floods. Filling the room was a thick ocean of his mothers blood as he was swept up in the chair slowly moving up towards the ceiling. He could feel the warm wetness of her blood touch his skin as he fell into the red ocean around him screaming to his dead mother. Her body held perfectly in the arms of the dark creature who smirked at him, watching him drown with white glowing eyes glaring into his soul.

…

Dior woke with a jolt, his body jerking in the bed he was laid in trying to sit up but the pain and exhaustion he was fighting making it impossible for him to move. Waking mid scream, his attempted jolt had halted all sound within him so he was left laying still once again gasping for air. Eyes wide, he stared into the world around him, trying to pull his own consciousness from the nightmare of his mind and back to the real world. The feel of wet warmth still covered his body, making him forever remember the image of his mother's throat slit open and he could not shake the fear it gave him.

Suddenly there was a gentle rumble in his ears, a man's deep whisper of a voice, beside him. Hard to hear, but present. Dior's blue eyes, his right more than left as it was still swollen shut, slowly turned to look at the source. Through blurry vision it was hard to see at all, but he could barely make out the shape of a dark haired, square jawed stranger very close to his side. He knew he should fear the presence of someone he knew not, but he was too exhausted to fight back if an attack would be next, and too relieved that he would not die in the snow as somethings dinner. The voice came again, echoing into his ears, but his eye lids were already closing as he faded back into sleep.

This time a deep, nightmare-less, sleep.

XD! HI! so this was more like a teaser chapter than a full chapter. I have more on the way and the real chapters will be much longer. But I wanted to see if this was something worth posting at all. I know its kind of dark, but it wont stay like this for too long.

Let me know if you want more! XP