Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. If it was, Bloodhound would have gone very differently....
A/N: Finally, the (possibly) long awaited sequel to The Call! So, basically, somewhere four to eight months have passed since the end of it, Rosto's completely recovered, and the main idea for this came from Your Guardian Angel by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, and I highly recommend listening to it while you read it. I'm pretty happy with this - and it's all written, too! It only has to go through editing before being posted. Anyway, end of the author's note - enjoy the chapter, and review! I love to hear what my readers think! And if you want a say in the fic I post next, check out the poll on my profile!


"Just leave me alone!" Beka Cooper, red-faced and angry, shouted at Rosto. His dark eyes narrowed.

"If you want me to leave you alone, why don't you just get out of my room?" He countered. Everyone in the room was staring at the two of them. It was one of the few times they had decided to have breakfast up in Rosto's room, and it obviously wasn't going well.

Beka and Rosto had been feuding for weeks, for reasons unknown to even them. They had become extremely close after Rosto's near-death experience with the Tusaine Rogue. But, after months of being inseparable, they had quiet suddenly begun to bicker uncontrollably. The slightest thing caused them to argue, and it was starting to get annoying for everyone else.

"Humph. I don't know what I ever saw in you," she muttered darkly as she stalked out of the room. Rosto made an indignant noise, crossing his arms over his chest. He sat down on his bed and glared out the window. Kora and Aniki exchanged glances as he sulked.

No one dared utter another word at breakfast. When Phelan closed the door behind him, Rosto stood and crossed the room, locking the door. He glared out the window for a while before flopping down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

None of this made sense to him! None at all. He wanted this relationship to work – it was the best one he had ever had. He really loved Beka, more than he had loved any other mot he had ever gotten involved with. There was something so different, so special about her. There always had been. But suddenly, neither of them seemed to be able to control themselves in the other's presence. They had had five shouting matches in the last week alone, and they had barely made up after each of them.

Why wasn't it working? He wanted it, she wanted it, but they could no longer stay in the same room for more than ten minutes! He punched his pillow in frustration before rolling over on his stomach and propping himself up. He looked at the sword that was hanging on his wall behind his bed, his eyes traveling across the supple leather of the scabbard and the design of the hilt. That was the sword that he had with him when he had nearly died. He had had it put up to remind him – both of them, really – that nothing could separate them.

But it seemed that it had all been in vain. Here he was, after finally being happy after so long, knowing that he was searching for something, that something was missing, and it had all shattered. She didn't care anymore, and, for all he could stare at her for hours and imagine their life together for years to come, he couldn't stop himself from fighting back when they argued.

What if that part of the story, where they live happy ever after doesn't happen? he thought to himself. What if me and Beka really weren't meant to be, like all of those stories about star-crossed lovers say?

After a while, he pushed those thoughts away. They wouldn't do him any good, nor would they help in his relationship whatsoever. But still, he had to wonder about it. Maybe it wasn't love after all. Maybe it was just his need to find something entirely different from who and what he was, and possess it.

He had never thought of himself as particularly possessive, but still, he had to wonder about that sometimes. Was the love just an infatuation that would fade in time, and never come again? Was it just an insane need to own something – someone – who was so different that she made him feel whole? How could that be? He really cared for her, more than anything else in the world. He wasn't that selfish, was he?

Rosto sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He saw only one thing when he closed his eyes, as he had for months on end. Beka's face, her blue-grey eyes, long dark blond hair, and that brilliant smile that warmed his heart. She wasn't just a possession for him to own so that he could use it when he wished to, and set it aside when he didn't. She was a person, who had seemed to truly care about him, for a time, at least. He had cared so deeply…

But maybe it really wasn't meant to be. What if, years later, she would find someone else, someone better suited for her than him? Then she would be trapped. He knew that she wasn't a person who took her obligations lightly, and asking her to marry him, like he had been planning to before this bickering had started, would do just that. If she said yes to him, she would be trapped forever. He knew that he couldn't do that to her if there was a chance that they really weren't meant to be together. He couldn't do that to her.

And, thinking about it, he couldn't do that to himself, either. For her to be miserable, would make him feel horrible, selfish, and cruel. Because he would be what stood in her way, just like she had stood between him and death.

But, as he thought about it more, he knew that, if given half the chance, he would do that to her. He was selfish, conceited, and as vain as a man could get. He was possessive, and he would stand in her way if that meant that he would get what he wanted. That was how it had always been. Rosto always got what he wanted. Always.

He had gotten his way with almost anything when he was little. He had been the youngest son and spoiled like the baby of the family that he had been until he was five, when his little sister had been born. He had always gotten everything he wanted. If his parents didn't give it to him, his grandparents had. Then, he had wanted to go into the Rogue, so he had. He had wanted power, and he got it. He had wanted an adventure. He got it, and Aniki and Kora with it as part of the deal. He had wanted the Rogue's throne. He had gotten it. He had wanted Beka. He had gotten her.

Thinking about it, he had never been denied anything in his entire life, for all he had never really been more than upper middle-class at best. And thinking about it, he knew he couldn't let any of it go. That was just how he was. He wouldn't let the power, or his throne go any more than he would let someone cut his hair. And that was never going to happen.

He pounded his fist against the frame of his bed, wincing as pain spiked up his arm. It wasn't fair. He loved her, couldn't she understand it? He was struggling with his inner nature here, trying to figure himself out, and all for her. So that they could stop fighting, and go back to just loving each other. Rosto was frustrated beyond belief. And he had Court tonight.

As if his day needed to be any harder. This was really the last thing he needed on a day like today. What with his mind being in turmoil over Beka and his very nature, this was just a headache waiting to happen. At that matter, he did feel a headache coming on. Just wonderful…

He walked into the Dancing Dove later, barely noting how busy it was. He walked over to his throne and seated himself, watching as the Court of the Rogue settled into the motion that would carry it through the night. His dark gaze scanned the room, landing on Beka over in a corner with what looked like a mug of lemonade. She was looking right at him. Her gaze did not waver when he met it, but she did not look happy.

With a sigh, Rosto rose from his throne and sauntered over to where she sat. She looked up at him without a word. Her blue-grey eyes were hard, and she looked just as annoyed as she had when she had stormed out of his room that morning.

"All right, what's got the Terrier all riled up?" he asked, leaning against the table. She glared at him.

"Don't you ever get tired of bothering people?" she asked sharply. Rosto looked down at her, surprise written all over his face. The expression was gone seconds later, but the frown that had accompanied it had not disappeared.

"Is that really what you think I'm doing? Bothering you?" he asked softly. Her gaze didn't soften at all, nor did it leave his face.

"Yes." Rosto's frown deepened when he heard this response.

"What's gotten into you, Beka? Two months ago, you never would have said—"

"So? What's your point?" she demanded, getting to her feet. No one was paying attention to either of them, nor to the noise they were making. It was too loud in the Dove for anyone else to hear them anyway.

"The point is that I haven't done anything – I want this to work, Beka. I really do. But this bickering we're doing isn't doing a thing to help at all!" he said. He held out his hands in a peaceful gesture, trying to calm her down a little. It didn't work.

"That's another problem. You haven't done anything. You forget everything, and you don't care. You don't care about me, or the relationship we had. You don't care at all, Rosto the Piper," she said, her voice rising with every word. She moved toward and poked him in the chest with every word she said next. "You. Don't. Care. I'm just a possession to you and I know it."

"That isn't true," he protested. "And you know very well that it isn't like that. I love you, Beka. I'm not afraid to say it. What is this about?"

"That's just it. If you did care, you would know. If you did care, I wouldn't have to tell you. Goodbye, Rosto the Piper," she said. Her tone was deadly soft; then she turned on her heel and walked away. Rosto stared after her for a few moments before he took a deep breath and walked back over to his throne.

"You're in charge," he told Aniki in a low voice. She nodded. He knew she had watched the whole thing, though she hadn't heard anything that had been said.

Rosto strode out of the Dancing Dove before he could lose control. No one saw the single tear that slipped down his face when he retreated into the darkness outside.