A/N: I DO NOT own True Blood. I'm currently getting ready to get back into this story, but I figured I might as well go back and reread it first. I was absolutely shocked to discover the huge difference in my writing ability now and then, so, I'm going to rewrite up to the new update for the sake of consistency, and to make this a bit better. Enjoy! I'll have a seperate account on Tumblr in case this story gets purged by FanFiction. It's on /blog/choicestory

Genesis

In the Beginning…

October, 98 B.C.

Beneath the cold fall air, a boy shrank back in fear on the ground as blood sprayed his face.

The red sticky liquid spattered across his skin, causing him to shut his eyes tightly as he felt it trickle down between his lips, seeping into his mouth slowly.

"Look at the boy here! He is all but weeping!" the harsh voice of a Spartan soldier cackled wildly, and Titus forced himself to look up at the man, buried beneath a dark beard and hair braided back into one long plait.

His pink lips were spread in a ferocious grin, that reminded Titus of a wolf. Beside the blazing fire they had lit, his dark iris' danced with bloodlust sadistic glee as he stood above the bodies of the dead, and one remaining living.

Eyes meeting Titus', his smile disappeared, transforming into a horrific snarl of disgust.

"You think you can look at me Macedonian?" he hissed, and Titus quickly looked away, heart beating rapidly in his chest as he glanced down at his lap.

His hands were bound tightly with coarse rope, splinters digging into the skin of his wrists.

A boy of seventeen years, this was the first time he could ever say he ad truly felt fear. He was born onto the world by a mother and father who had taught him that fear was a weakness that would not be tolerated, and from is first steps, he had learned to embrace danger, rather than shy away from it.

"A heart full of fear leads to weakness. Fear has enslaved the hearts of millions, and casts darkness over those it captures. Never give in son, and know, that death, is a new beginning. Death brings about the new life, it is nothing to fear. Pear is for the weak, and the strong, fear nothing."

The words of his father echoed through his head as Titus felt the unfamiliar coldness creep through his body.

He had been tracking a party of Spartan soldiers across the countryside, hoping he might pick up any scraps of food they had left behind, only to find himself captive of the brute soldiers with no way of escape.

In this one moment, Titus would have given anything to escape the violence he had come to love. Since his upbringing as a child, he was taught to embrace and love brutality. His father was a warrior, who died an honorable death fighting for his country. Looking down upon the battlefields and watching the blood spray and spatter, watching body parts dismembered, hearing the strangled gurgle that would erupt from a man's throat as he choked on his own blood and vomit, Titus longed to become one with it. He wanted to wield an axe on the battlefields and watch as the life left the eyes of his opponents.

The war and greed consumed the entire country, as Sparta went to war with everyone, including themselves. He had grown up accustomed to the bloodshed and calls for soldiers that reached far and wide, and Titus longed to be a part of it.

And now, kneeling on the ground surrounded by dead bodies and facing the end of a knife, Titus was, although not exactly on the terms he had always hoped.

Suddenly, the tip of a sword tapped the bottom of his chin, sliding beneath his chin and lifting his face up.

"Who sent you?" another soldier asked, gazing down into his wide and watery eyes.

Daring himself to meet the man's eyes, Titus swallowed visibly, trying to still his shaking hands and keep his voice from croaking.

"I am no spy. I am just a citizen, I have not wronged you, I promise."

The man who stood above him simply stared quizzically, as though studying him while a few of his counterparts chuckled wildly, including the bearded man who had earlier reprimanded him for looking into his eyes.

"Sparta has numerous enemies boy, we cannot trust every quivering child who falls onto our grounds and pleads innocence." He said quietly, face completely unreadable.

While there was no kindness or warmth in his tone, he did not speak quite so cruelly as his counterparts, and Titus silently prayed he could lead the man into seeing the truth, and perhaps sparing his life.

A small wheeze tore his attention as he glanced next to him, where a Greek man lay dying.

Eyes staring directly at Titus, he gurgled and panted loudly, blood spurting from the incision in his neck. With each exhale of breath, a small amount of it sprayed from the wound, causing Titus to look away as bile rose in his throat.

His stomach churned wildly and nausea rolled in waves through his body as he stared at the red droplets, wondering how it felt.

Moving his mouth incomprehensibly, he stared at Titus before giving a last exhale. Suddenly, it seemed as though the smallest flashes of brightness that Titus did not know existed left the man's eyes.

The man who seemed less cruel than his counterparts stared down at Titus for a moment before turning and walking away, hands on his hips. The bearded one looked down at him, upper lip curling in a mixture of disgust and unfounded hatred. Staring back down at the ground, Titus slowly began to go over all the things in his life he had missed.

There had been becoming an actual warrior for one. As the son of a highly respected and revered soldier, Titus had been expected to follow into his father's footsteps of greatness. After his father's death, Titus had pledged to join the Macedonian army, only to be turned down because of his age. At 17, he was on the verge of becoming a man, and years ago, would have completed at least two years on the battlefield, wielding an axe like one of the glorious Gods, however the weeping pleas and angry tears of mothers had led officials to raise the minimum age to 18, leaving Titus with nothing to do but wait for the years to pass.

He would now miss the opportunity to follow in his father's footsteps, and become another Macedonian great. He would also miss out on the chance of having a woman to call his own, who would bear his children.

From less than savory dealings, Titus was lucky to have felt the touch of a woman. On his sixteenth birthday before his father died, the man had taken him to bed one of the local whores, and in his father's eyes, Titus became a man right then and there. He had a beautiful woman for one night, however, he still wanted to chance to continue on his name. He was the last boy in his family, and dying here and now, would be the death of his family line.

Listening as footsteps crunched against the crisp grass beneath him, he looked up to see two of his captors approach him. One was the bearded man, the other the kinder one who Titus prayed would spare him.

Together, they went back and forth in hushed tones, and Titus remained slumped, thankful for them at least keeping him alive so far. He was the only one left, although the others had quickly admitted deceit. It was only by sheer coincidence that Titus was near the group at all, only running into them when they were capture together and dragged before the Spartan soldiers.

Suddenly, the far cry of a voice on the wind hushed all conversation as all of the soldier's and Titus looked up, towards the direction of the noise. Squinting his eyes, Titus could just make out the figure of a boy, running quickly about the land, clothes whipping in the cold wind as he made his way to the camp.

As he got closer, Titus observed his youth. Long dark hair flowed back and stopped just as a chiseled jawline, exaggerating wide brown eyes and a slightly crooked nose. The boy looked to be no older than Titus himself at the most, fatty cheeks giving him the appearance of a boy on the verge of becoming a man.

Approaching the soldiers, he finally stopped, sandals tracking marks in the ground as he panted heavily and made his way towards the bearded guard.

"What do you want?" the man barked harshly, and the boy glanced nervously at the slaughtered bodies around him, then quickly at Titus, who remained on his knees in the dirt.

"The party from Somalia has arrived. The King requests you return with utmost urgency to escort the princess."

At this, the man who had spoken to Titus with slight kindness raised his eyebrows, and unmistakable grin on his face before turning around, leaving his bearded companion looking angrier than before.

"Tell King Nabis we will be back shortly." He barked, and the boy nodded curtly before taking off up the hill once more. The bearded man quickly spun around, looking down at Titus through glowering eyes.

"Take the boy. If we are to accommodate the Somali princess and our new queen, it'd be best to start this night. After all, there is a welcoming feast in her honor."

The glee Titus felt at his impending release was quickly shattered as he heard several of the other guards snicker, telling him that perhaps going to this princess, may have been a bit more than he expected.


Aziza glanced back and forth through the heavy material of the dark woven veil that shrouded her face.

"Look upon these great temples my child, and see what will be yours come tomorrow morn. This is Sparta." He father said beside her, grasping her hand tightly as they made their way up the steps of one of Sparta's beautiful and lavish temples.

They had made their way from Somalia, six full moons across land and sea to come to this country, where the following night, Aziza would wed the youngest Spartan prince of the current king, Nabis.

Beneath the eyes and grace of the Gods, the two would join hands, and both countries, would also become joined as well, giving Somolia one of the most powerful allies in all the lands, and ensuring Sparta high quality goods and soldiers as they built up their armies against the Macedonians.

Behind Aziza and her father, were the 200 men and woman who had accompanied them on the journey over, and who would stay behind in Sparta with Aziza to become servants to the great King Nabis and royal Spartan citizens. They chattered and smiled freely, looking forward to "servitude" which would undoubtedly mean staying in the magnificent homes of their employers and wearing fine clothes, while Aziza herself became the truly enslaved one.

It had been eight months since her father offered her to Nabis' youngest son, an up and coming Spartan solider of eighteen birth years who had a reputation for sadism and cruelty, often employed to the women who came across him.

Rumor and legend had it that at the age of 15, under the gleeful eye of his father he had all but mutilated a young virgin who had been brought to him as a gift from his father, taking away her honor before savagely taking her beauty away as well. He was skilled with the knife, something Aziza's father knew, but still agreed to, stating that it was only because of her "condition" he would allow it, although Aziza knew otherwise.

As they continued up the steps of the temple, Aziza felt hot tears prick the back of her eyes as she thought about everything she was giving up against her will for the sake of her father, and her country. She was 16 in human years, three in her immortal life, and unwilling even at her age of 19 to become a bride, although others had long before her. Within a day, she was going to become the future Queen of Sparta, an honor she should have looked forward to, but silently dreaded with every fiber of her being.

King Nabis knew what she was, which mean that becoming united with the country of Sparta, meant she was bound for life. Her life more specifically, which was liable to be a very, very long time. It was part of the reason he had sought out the deal with her father, knowing perfectly well that Aziza would be forced to remain faithful to the Spartan Empire throughout all of her years, including long after he and all his kin were gone.

She was bound for life, words that instilled fear in the hearts of mortal men. Immortality was truly a curse.

Just as the though flew through her mind, her body twitched subtly, and Aziza looked up to the sky, as the night clouds cleared away in preparation for the sunrise.

For a moment, she thought what it would be like to gaze upon the sun one last time, and let the sweltering heat take over her body, melting her skin and reducing her bones to nothing.

"Welcome!" a voice rang out as they reached the top of the temple. Aziza looked up through her veil to find a man, perhaps of 50 years or so with short graying hair and red robes. His straight noise sat perfectly centered between high cheekbones and bronze skin. Beneath his robes, he wore the traditional Spartan clothing for men, a white tunic tied with a brown plait and gold sandals.

Beside him stood a woman, more beautiful and fair than anything Aziza had ever seen. Feeling her father pull beside her, she knelt down before him, bowing her head in respect to the Spartan king.

"Stand, future daughter of mine. I will not let you be soiled on the filthy ground, your beauty has certainly not been exaggerated."

Tilting her head upward, Aziza looked at him, thankful she wore the veil so that she could hide her disgust. His voice dripped with unhidden desire that told her so would consummate her marriage with more than just his son.

Beside him, his wife stood emotionless and unfaltering, and Aziza wondered why she allowed her husband to make such crude comments before her. Spartan women had always been viewed as the strongest and most fierce in all the lands. Was the how a woman of regality acted when her husband openly jeered at the woman who was to marry his son?

"I thank you my King for your kindness, however my beauty is nothing compared to that of your lovely wife's."

Glancing over at the Queen quickly, Aziza watched as her emotionless face twitched slightly. Nabis' smile itself dulled for a moment, and Aziza took pleasure in the unhappiness of her future father in law before rising as commanded, standing level with him.

"How kind of you to speak highly of my wife. Now I am aware in your current condition you must retire before the sun rises. Arrangements have been made for your safety and comfort. I am most sorry for your abbreviated greeting, however if you follow my guards, they will take you to your chambers for the night."

With that, Aziza watched as several hulking men made their way towards her, with an announced apprehension. Fear coloring their eyes, Aziza studied their tense shoulders and clenched jaws as they approached her cautiously, as though waiting for an attack.

"My King!" came a voice, and as she followed them silently, she turned her head slightly, stopping as another party came from the opposite direction, a young boy in tow.

He looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, with dark scraggly hair which fell in front of his face and a series of markings that ran around his chest. Stumbling over his feet with bound hands, he followed the party of guards, blood spattered across his legs.

Staring at him, she narrowed her eyes. She had seen him before, undeniably and unmistakably. She recognized the tribal markings immediately, although she remembered him with short hair.

As he stumbled past, he turned towards her, glancing for a second as she stared before turning away.

"Princess?" a voice asked timidly.

Snapping her attention back to her party, Aziza turned to one of the guards, a handsome young blonde man with wavy hair and light green eyes.

"I am sorry." She said quietly.

With that, the party began to move, delving further into the temple which continued to amaze and astound Aziza with each step. It was a truly beautiful building, with lavish stone walls and beautifully carved busts of the Spartan kings of old. Stepping past one, she stopped, turning her head to observe the chiseled writing beneath it.

"This is your great king Leonidas." She stated softly, studying the marble caricature silently.

"One of the great kings. We have many." Replied the blonde boy who had spoken to her earlier, and she glanced at him quickly, studying his features.

The thing about having animalistic qualities, was the fact that she could pick up on certain things. For example, the emotions of humans often radiated in waves. Just one look at a person could tell her all she needed to know, but even beyond that, the body reacted certain ways in certain situations. For instance, if someone was fearful, she could hear their heart race rapidly in their chest. They're breathing quickened, their sweat glands produced more, and she could almost hear the blood rush rapidly inside of them.

Fear was a feeling she had quickly gotten used to, especially around those that knew what she was. They saw her as a monster, and could she really blame them?

Giving the boy a small smile, she turned back to the head of the guard who watched the interaction with dark eyes.

"All well Cleomenus?"

The boy said nothing, and looking at the ground, Aziza suddenly realized that fear was not the only emotion here. There was also hatred, another emotion she was now getting used to. Hatred for who she was, what she had done, and everything she had become.

Without words, they began to descend further and further beneath the temple, the air becoming significantly cooler as they made their way deeper underground.

As the air became chillier, and the walls more moist, Aziza's nose began to pick up the stench of rotting flesh, unwashed bodies, and blood. The dirt-covered ground and bare rock walls gave hints to a place which usually housed Lepers and the diseased, not blood-sucking Somali princesses.

The overwhelming stench of disease and despair filled her nostrils, growing stronger with each step. For her over-heightened senses, it powered through her nasal cavity, floating down to her very stomach. Behind her, the blonde boy covered his nose with his arm, eyes watering against the stench.

Finally, after many minutes passed they arrived upon a series of shabby wooden doors, each bolted and closed in the wall. Moving down the corridor, the guard stopped in front of one, pulling a heavy iron key ring from his belt and sticking a dull metal key into the lock.

The door creaked open miserably, and Aziza stepped forward, looking through the darkness at her new home for the night.

"Hope it's enough for a princess." The man lead guard spat, and Aziza glanced at him quickly before taking a step in.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the door slammed behind her and she was left alone in the darkness.

It seemed some effort had been made to accommodate someone of royal birth, although not much. Brass statuettes stood around the musky dirt chamber with a low-lying bed in the center.

Walking over, Aziza sat down, ripping the veil off of her head and wondering if her father and people were up above, joining in lavish celebration that would extend well into the day, and maybe even into the night when Aziza and Nabis' son married.

Feeling her body twitch with the biological announcement of sunrise, she laid back in the bed, staring up at the dirt ceiling and silently thinking to herself.

In all reality, she could have escaped all of this. She was powerful, deadly, agile, and strong. By all means, she could probably kill the entire city and flee to freedom, living her life in the wild, feeding on the meager and unsuspecting, watching the days, years, and centuries fly by.

But she did not, for a reason she and she herself only understood.

A year after her transformation, Aziza came across a poor farmer, who she had originally intended to feed from. Grasping his white head tightly between her hands, she felt him shake, she listened to him wheeze, and worse of all, her impressive ears could pick of the words he managed to string together before his heart gave out from the sheer intensity of the situation.

He had shamed her, condemning her to a life of misery and despair, and it was in that moment, that Aziza realized that all along, she had the choice to decide whether or not she would become a brutal killer, with no regard whatsoever for the human life she had previously lived.

Life, was all about choice. The choice to become who she wanted, the choice of how she would live, and more or less, the choice she made not to kill another human being, ever again.

She had steadily learned to feed without killing, frequently feeding on those that had just died back home, or taking just enough that the person could recover. In two years, Aziza had vowed not to become a monster like some she knew, so that for the rest of her long life, she could live in good conscience.

For choice, was the most powerful decision a person could make.


"Get up!"

Titus was jolted awake as cold water pierced through his skin, extinguishing his dreams and shattering against his skin as he sat up wildly, spitting water and shaking it out of his eyes.

Feeling the coarse hay beneath him, he looked around wildly, torn from his dreams of carnage in his homeland as he remembered once more where he was.

The voice who had awoken him had now moved on, and Titus gazed around the prison, which was lit by candlelight as it had been when he first arrived.

The previous night he had been dragged before Nabis, and called a traitor to Sparta before being yanked off to the prison. His night had been spent cowering in the corner of his cell in fear, listening as one man rambled on in a language he did not understand, and as another sang terrifying of death in a raspy voice.

The man in the cell next to him was a servant, accused with assaulting one of the daughters of the king, and from what he explained to Titus, being killed would have been the easier way out.

Most of the men in the prison either died soon of starvation, or were taken and never heard from again. Rumor had it, that the Spartan soldiers would take them out into the wild, where creatures of ill will lurked. The soldiers would offer the men as an offering to Dis Pater, who used the souls as he pleased, spiriting them down to the Underworld.

As the guard who had awoken them walked past, several others entered the chamber in full uniform. The man who mumbled over and over again in another language suddenly got louder, screaming at the top of his lungs and causing overall dissent in the prison.

"What is happening?" Titus asked, leaning over to the cell next to him.

"I do not know. They never come down here in these numbers." The servant replied, and together they watched as a line of guards marched past, right-facing at the same time and staring past the cells.

"Spartans! Bow to the princess Aziza, your future queen of Sparta!" a voice commanded, and as one unit, each soldier dropped to one knee, head bowed to the floor.

"No. Do not let it be true." The servant in the cell next to Titus suddenly spoke.

Titus turned toward him, noting the change in his voice, which was filled with undeniable panic.

"What? What is it?" Titus asked, turning to him sharply.

"Her." The man simply replied, eyes turning toward the prison entrance.

Suddenly, the entire chamber fell eerily silent. Crawling to the door of his cell, Titus grabbed the bars pressing himself against the door as he watched a woman enter the prison.

Involuntarily, he inhaled sharply, immediately recognizing her as the woman he had seen the previous night in the temple courtyard.

He had been unable to see her then, her face masked under a heavy black veil, and his attention was merely drawn to her because for an odd reason, he felt as though her eyes were boring into his very soul.

Now, he gazed upon her face, unable to think of anything but her astounding beauty.

She had brown skin, that seemed to glow against the candlelight, giving her an ethereal appearance as her dark hair fell in waves around her face and down her back. A crown of ivy-welded gold sat around her oval head, drawing attention to green eyes that sparkled dazzlingly under the light.

A white dress clung tightly to her body, which curved delicately like a statue of a Roman goddess, and fell to the floor, seeming to accentuate her height. Her long neck was decorated with a gold necklace, and bangles dripped from her thin wrists.

Holding her head high, she stepped into the prison, looking at the cells before stopping in front of one of the guards and leaning forward, whispering something in his ear.

The man muttered a reply, pointing to the cell two down from Titus, where he knew a dying old man rested. The man had been left there to rot after stealing a morsel of bread to feed his sons. While the Senate agreed to allow him a respite from death, they tossed him into the prison to let nature take its course, rather than soiling their own hands with the order for his execution.

Titus watched as the woman began walking towards the cell, followed by a guard who pulled out a ring of keys before unlocking the door and sliding it over for her.

Standing up on shaky legs, Titus gripped the bars of his cell, peering over the heads of the two cells beside him and glancing at the elderly man who continued to lay dying, seemingly unaware of the entire situation.

The woman slowly walked into the hay-filled cell, kneeling down beside the man and grabbing his face in her hands. Bending down, she began to whisper something in the man's ear, and to the astonishment of every being in the cell, his mouth began to move back.

The woman nodded, her lips part and revealing two rows of straight white teeth. Slowly, the dying man began to lift his arm, hand fluttering against the woman's face before dropping to the ground.

Suddenly, a sound echoed through the prison, and Titus watched in horror as two white fangs gleamed against her lips. Without reservation, she leaned down and sank her teeth in the man's neck.

He began to thrash wildly, and Titus backed up against the opposite wall of his cell, sinking to the ground.

The man reached out a hand, grasping at the woman's with weak and knotted skin. She grasping it tightly, sucking and feeding from his neck without reserve.

The sound of someone retching filled the room, and Titus himself struggled to keep bile from rising in his stomach.

He had heard of her kind before. Never seen one, but heard of the blood-drinkers who were said to be descendants from the union between Persephone and Hades.

They had inherited the beauty of the Greek God's wife, with pale skin and eyes that could bring a man to his knees.

Then they feasted on blood, demons of the night sent from Hades himself to siphon souls from the planet.

In horror, Titus watched as the old man suddenly grew still. Sitting up, the woman wiped blood from her mouth before standing. Looking around the prison, her eyes fell on Titus', and the two stared at one another before a guard stepped forward and said something.

Her face slowly became pallid, lips turned down in an unmistakable frown.

She nodded, before stepping past him and making her way out of the prison. Titus watched her go, his brain churning with a mixture of emotions he could not even begin to sort out as she stormed out and left an aftermath of trauma and death behind her.


Aziza stood in the center of her underground chambers, fingering the material of her wedding dress.

Tonight would be the night she truly lost all freedom, giving herself over to the King of Sparta and his young son, who she had yet to even meet.

Silently contemplating her future, she thought about what the elderly man had whispered in her ear before she had taken his life away.

"I give you my life. Take it. Live." He had said to her, throat dry with days of muteness.

When he had said this to her, his voice spoke of more than feeding for sustenance. It spoke of hidden meaning.

When Aziza had leaned down, letting his lips brush against her ear and taking in the last of him, she knew exactly what he had meant. To live her life, not this one. Not the life she was enslaved to, but to become free.

Then there was the boy, the boy who haunted her since the moment she had first laid eyes on him. His unmistaken familiarity had nestled in her brain, eating away at her every time she had a moment to think, and it was that night when she had returned to the world of the living that she realized where he was from. She knew his face, for she had seen it in the visions that haunted her since she had started her new life.

Whether it be when she broke free of the ground or while she was doing something, vivid images would float through her head, causing her to momentarily separate from the present as she was enveloped in a hazy fog.

She had seen him, and she knew, whether those visions were an insight into her future, or a life in a world beyond her own, she was meant to come across him in some way or some form.

Aziza felt as though this was God's way of showing her to this boy. He had been imprisoned, full of fear and innocence. Had the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob brought her here just to rescue him? Had He pushed their lives together for a purpose?

Aziza chose to thought so, but most importantly, she knew that deep down, even without considering here religion as a factor, she just wanted someone to be with her. If she was to flee, she would be betraying her father and her country. She would be turning her back on the man who gave her life.

Aziza knew that no matter what her actions were, unless her father came up with a way to fix them, Nabis would be unrelenting. She had a sister, Naobi, younger and even more beautiful than she was that would be more than willing to marry Nabis' son, but did Aziza want to submit her sister to the wills of a sadistic prince? At least Aziza herself would be able to quickly heal. What of the 14-year-old who was new to the world in every way, including her womanhood? She had only bled for the first time several months ago, a startling discovery that had left her screaming in the middle of the night when she awoke to find blood in her sheets.

Was she really willing to sacrifice the well being of her family for her own selfishness? How hard was it to lay on her back and accept the young prince willingly? It was not as if she had to bear his children, she could not even if she had to. If she was lucky, perhaps the woman he used to have his children he would stay with, leaving her free to do as she pleased.

But doing as she pleased year after year? Was she truly willing to do that?

Sitting down on the bed, Aziza stared at the dirt floor of the room, before her head suddenly seemed to split open in pain.

She gently traced the markings on his chest, fingers grazing the green ink lightly as her tips came in contact with his smooth skin. Smiling, she looked into his eyes before leaning in to press her lips against his beneath the Óc Eo moonlight, which shined beautifully through the window of their small hut.

"Do you miss it?" he suddenly asked, fingers moving down to trace line up her naked back. Raising her eyebrows, she lay on her stomach, head turned to face him.

"Miss what?" she replied, surprising her with his suddenly impressive skill in the native's language. He had been learning without her knowing. The thought made her smile as she remembered the frustrated boy who all those years ago, she had tried to break from Latin.

"Your life. You never talk about it." He looked down at her.

"And which life are you referring to?"

"Back in your home. In Somalia."

"GAH!" she screamed, lashing out as she threw a hand over her eyes which streamed bloody tears. The pain reverberated around her head as the images disappeared, and Aziza clutched her skull furiously, silently begging God for it to stop.

After several moments, the sharp stabbing finally receded and she stood, taking a breath out of habit and trudging across the room.

She heard the footsteps long before the guard reached the door but nevertheless threw it open anyway, paying no mind as he jumped back in surprise, heat pumping loudly.

"Princess! Forgive me you frightened me….the wedding will be starting soon, I have been ordered to bring you to the surface."

His words flew right through her ears as she thought only about the visions she had just seen. It was him, the boy from the prison.

She needed to see him, one last time. She needed to look into his eyes and know, that he was not meant to be in her life. Aziza needed to know that fleeing here tonight with him, would not be a mistake, and that staying and marrying the prince was what she was meant to do.

"I need to feed again. Today was the first time I have in days." She lied to the guard easily, watching his eyes dart about nervously.

"But Princess, we must-"

She cut him off with a sharp hiss, baring her fangs dangerously and watching as the man, who stood hulking over her with broad ripping muscles and bulging biceps shrank back in fear, pressing himself against the wall.

"I am going to be the Queen of Sparta, and I am hungry. Feeding from your neck will be no matter to the Nabis, he will do everything in his power to accommodate me, you know that." Aziza tongued sharply, making her tone as cold and harsh as she felt.

The man said nothing, only nodded quickly as he swallowed before taking off toward the prison.

She followed, relishing how it felt in that one moment she had power. The first time she had felt that since first becoming who she was, back when she wildly took lives with no regret.

As they entered the prison, he left her before running off like a frightened child, leaving Aziza to speak with the guard herself.

"Back for seconds are you?" he grinned, so sadistically it sent a surge of anger through Aziza's body. Without thought, she grabbed his head before sending him flying against the stone wall, knocking him out cold.

He slumped to the floor unconsciously, and Aziza gazed around the prison, the odor of fear wafting heavily from the hearts of men who wondered if this moment may be their last.

Making her way to the boy's cell, she stopped, letting her slender fingers wrap around the metal grates as she stared at him, silently taking in every detail of his face, every detail she had seen in her mind over and over again.

Sitting in the corner, knees to his chest, he stared at her, eyes hidden beneath unkempt hair matted with blood and sweat, filth and hopelessness.

Looking into his eyes almost brought about the familiar pain that came with the visions, and Aziza felt as though she knew every single thing about him. She felt as if they were somehow bonded, in a way even closer than mates. She felt as if a part of her flowed within him, and as though he resonated within her.

Trying to think, she went back through the flashes in her mind, trying to recall if she had ever called him by a name. In her visions, many called her by names she had not recognized, and many sounded completely foreign to her. Staring, one seemed to stick out as she felt it drop off her tongue.

"Godric." She whispered, staring at him.

He looked at her wildly, before gazing around wildly as though she had addressed someone else.

"Your name is Godric." She said again, this time louder. Again, the boy simply stared at her, no hint of recognition on his face but she knew him. He had to know her, she had seen him in her dreams.

"My name is Titus, after my father." He finally responded, voice soft and weary.

"Titus." She mouthed silently, before gripping the bars tightly. This was it. This was the moment.

"Can I look into your eyes Titus?" she asked, wondering what she would feel right now if she was still human. Even in her dead body, excitement flooded her mind and soul as she wondered if this boy was the really the one in her dreams? Did God send him to her for a purpose?

"I promise, I will not hurt you. I give you my word." She raised her head as she noted his apprehension.

"The promise of a demon means nothing!" a voice suddenly snapped, and Aziza's attention was drawn to the man in the cell next to Titus.

He wore the clothes of a Spartan citizen, albeit tattered and worn, with a long unkempt beard and dangerous dark eyes and remained narrowed at Aziza.

"My promise means everything." She shot back, returning to the boy who looked between the two of them.

"By Jupiter himself I would not give you my last word, you creature of evil. You kill and defile the human race, beast of the Underworld and plague upon the Earth."

Each word pierced to her very core, grabbing her tightly and wrapping around her like a venomous snake, which jabbed its quick tongue devilishly with quick precision.

"You and your false Gods, look upon me as a creature of evil while you battle wars against yourselves for nothing but greed and foolishness. Tell me, human, who is really the creature?" she spat dangerously.

"My "false Gods"? And what do you worship beast? What has given you your pretty face and unearthly ways?"

"I worship the true God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The God who turned rivers to blood and parted the Red Sea. The God who have made me in his image."

"So your God is a beast as well you admit? I pray Jupiter strikes you both down, you disgusting bitch!"

In was in that moment that for the first time in two years, Aziza lost all control. Feeling rage course through her body, her fangs emerged and she screamed savagely, throwing herself through the weak metal gate and attacking the man without reserve.

His scream sent glee through her body as she grabbed his skull tightly between her hands and twisted with all her might, ripping his head right off his body with little effort and whipping it across the ground as fire coated her useless lungs.

Adrenaline weaved through her, filling her arms and legs with glorious power, to add on to that which she had.

"You…" came a soft voice, that suddenly pulled her from the nightmarish glee she savored and back to reality as she stared at the bloody carcass.

"Father God forgive me." She choked, backing out of the cell as she stared at the body, taking in what she had just done.

She had killed, taken a life, and not for sustenance, but because she had let her own rage take over.

She had to leave. She had to flee. To stay here would mean to become her greatest enemy. She knew Nabis had military plans for her, to use her as his killing machine and turn Sparta into an even formidable foe. She could not do this. She would not do this.

Backing away, and feeling the sticky streams of blood leak from her eyes, she moved out of the cell, turning to the boy as he stared at her.

This time though, his eyes gleamed with a look that horrified her beyond all comparison. Admiration it seemed, for she could not sense fear on him, only excitement and intrigue as he stared at her.

Standing up, he walked across the cell, staring at her through dark eyes.

"Take me with you." He said, grasping the bars tightly.

His voice pummeled her as she could hear him whisper sweet nothings in her ear, feel his lips caress her body in ways no man had ever done.

"I will die here if you do not. You have already killed one man. By leaving me here, you kill another. Would your God really like that?" he tilted his head, speaking in such a manipulative tone that she wondered just how old he was.

"You speak foolishly. You do not know what I am, what I could do to you." She replied, studying his short and dirty fingernails, feeling them against her thighs.

"I do not?" he nodded to the dead body in the next cell.

Voices suddenly caught on her ear, and with a sharp turn of her head, Aziza waited as the soldiers made their way down to bring her up for the wedding.

As they stared at each other, Aziza silently wondered, if this was the choice she had been waiting for all her life.

A/N: I changed quite a bit lol. This chapter clocks in at 7K words (I think a new personal record for me) and 17 pages! Jesus H. Christ lol. Going to work on Chapter 2 next! You'll see I did add in a couple things, I'm actually surprised at how much I changed!