Author's Note: For the readers who faithfully followed this story, I offer you a sincere apology. In the two and a half years since I first started this story, a lot has happened and when I wanted to get back to this story, I could not figure out how to do so due to the difference between the girl who started the story and the woman today. So I rewrote chapters and picked stuff apart and finally, finally am back to finish this story. I thank you all for your support and I love you all.

Original Author's Note: I've always wanted to know more about the story of Valentine and Jocelyn, so I decided to write my own version of their story. I hope you enjoy reading this!

Prologue

"And as you know, my love, I always deliver on my promises."

He stood facing the flames, the light reflecting off of his dark eyes and illuminating the stark shadows of grief in his face. He was oblivious to the screams echoing around him and the smoke clouding his vision. His senses could only focus on the memory of her face, the bright curve of her lips, the laughter and love in her eyes. He saw that face wide and terrified, imagined the sound of her gear jacket brushing as gently as the hand of its owner against the undergrowth as she entered the werewolf encampment. He imagined her body along his, the love she had once reserved for him alone being shown to a monster.

"She would never even dare to try."

He snarled.

His son's black eyes looked up at him impassively at the sudden despairing sound. His face, an exact miniature of his own, showed no confusion about why there were screams and no complaint about the scorching heat. Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern turned his face once again towards the burning manor, his father copying his movements.

The volume of the screams was dying down, but the fire was not abating. It was beautiful and merciless, its fiery tongues destroying everything about their life together.

Valentine had learnt his lesson from the beautiful and the merciless.

"I love you."

He had thought that their love was something that could make him stronger. He had thought that, because of her, all he had known about love was false. But now, now he understood his mistake.

Love had never made anyone stronger. To love, was to destroy.

He picked up the small knapsack bag and gripped his son's hand harder, the small fingers exactly like hers, and how many times had he watched them move and admired them and felttheir delicate strength-

The toddler made a noise of annoyance at the increased forced contact, and Valentine Morgenstern snapped his head up from bitter reminiscence.

Hand in hand, father and son began to walk up the path.

Your thoughts are appreciated!