Well, ok, this is it, the first chapter of my first fic..

It hasn't been beta read, just read over a few thousand times during my de-bugging process.

Oh, and if you really think this is just a pile of donkey-crap, feel free to flame all your little heart desires! I enjoy reading flames; they just make me laugh, though constructive criticism is appreciated when received.

If you spot any grammatical/plot errors anywhere throughout the fic, don't hesitate to notify me, I don't mind corrections at all.

And, of course, the mandatory disclaimers: I do not own any part of Underworld (Though that would be one of the coolest things on this dear earth!). Len Wiseman and the rest of the dudes in its production do.


Chapter 1: Confusion

Winter. The world was drenched in the dull droplets falling from an overcast sky, enveloping the world in a grim layer of darkness, shielding humanity from the delightful bliss that was the sun. Fields flooding, roads slick, and a pair of watchful brown eyes hidden behind loose strands of disgruntled black hair, watching it all.

A stray gust of wind blew those rather tangled locks away, revealing the pale face of a young woman in her late-twenties, her sharp gaze seemingly piercing cloud, rain, sleet and ice. Her meandering dark eyes narrowed as they found their prey; a tall man, cloaked in a heavy leather jacket, suspicion dominating his features, his hands fumbling feverishly in his coat pockets. His stained, tattered, and for the most part soaking clothing gave onlookers a glimpse of what his life might be, but Selene wasn't fooled the slightest by the pitying glances this scraggly young man seemed to attract.

She knew very well who and what this stranger truly was, her mind at ease with the thought that her vengeance would be once more reeked upon yet another lycan, another of the filthy species who slaughtered all whom she had ever loved. She was ready.

Placing a deceptively delicate-looking hand on her holster, she firmly gripped one of her Berettas, its cold metallic surface soothing to her fingers, sending an instinctive feeling of security to her much-tortured mind. Her only friends in a sea of enemies, the only comfort in a world of pain. Her eye-lids fluttered shut for a brief moment, as she inhaled a deep breath, then without hesitation, she drew her weapons, gliding from behind the pillar she stood, fully-automatic pistols at the ready.

This was the first – and hopefully last – occasion she'd have to face a lycan in an open, public street.

Immediately noticing the leather-clad assassin brandishing a pair of pistols, the few occupants of the relatively empty street fled, some screaming, some crying, and others simply sprinting for their lives.

She had no time to react to the panic-ridden Hungarian citizens about her, for her steely gaze was locked on her now terrified enemy, who fled with speeds only a lycan could obtain.

Instinct took over as rigid training needed not remind her of her duty, her passion. Cursing under her breath at the hastened departure of her target, she fired a few rounds after him, starting at a run.

He didn't get far before one of the silver-plated bullets met its target, causing the fleeing youth to crumple on the spot, his spine fractured neatly in two.

The faintest of smiles crossed Selenes face as she stepped over to the terminally injured lycan, her fingers itching to send more of the same Godsend ammunition into his twitching corpse. Triumph and silent satisfaction graced her delicate features briefly as the lethal bullets penetrated his skin, before returning to her well-known look of uncaring disdain, her momentarily electric blue eyes fading back to their usual hazel.

She kicked the lifeless corps of a lycan she had relished killing, before reaching down reluctantly to grab a handful of his jacket, effectively dragging him to a less public grave. A near-by, yet secluded ditch was good enough for this piece of filth, she thought while grimacing as the scent of his burnt flesh wafted silently up to her, the silver ammunition causing an allergic reaction in his body even after death.

Her scowl faded back into dark satisfaction, as she hastily wiped her contaminated hand on a tuft of rain-soaked grass, effectively cleansing it of the irritating black grime that contrasted against her pale skin.

It'll take more than just a little grass to remove that filths stench though.. She thought with a smirk, holstering her Berettas, and heading back for home.


Home. For well over a century she had believed this word to be the vampire infested mansion Ordoghaz, until the earth-shattering moment she discovered the Elder she had put all her trust in, the one being she could rely on, had been just a sick lie. The lie she believed in for the majority of her life, the lie that had fueled the un-hesitant slaughter of what must have been thousands of predominantly innocent lycans, all for revenge.

A sudden movement from the sleeping occupant of a near-by bed roused Selene from her dark thoughts, bringing her back to the cold, hardened reality her life had now become. -


Immediately after the incident in the lycan sewers, the confusion, and overwhelming thoughts that came along with the events of that night, she quickly stopped by Ordoghaz, a stunned and confused Michael following her footsteps much like a lost puppy.

She assembled a backpacks worth of 'essentials', consisting of ammunition, bags of various weapons, ammunition, some cash, and a pair of what must have been credit cards, Michael thought, as they drove silently through the night in the silver Mercedes Selene had come to own after the rather unfortunate drowning of her old black Jag.

None dared to speak as they both ran through a series of progressively darker thoughts in their minds.

Michael stared aimlessly out his window, watching Budapest flash by quickly, until the blur of city lights came to a stop. He turned to Selene, as if gazing at her for a moment would extract a clarification.

"Stay here, I'll only be a minute," She instructed, taking no time to explain as she snatched the credit cards from the dashboard, leaving Michael to ponder what she was up to.

To Selene, the obvious had no business being elaborated, and to Michael, this was no less than frustrating at the best of times.

She only stayed briefly, true to her word, returning with a handful of cash, and a large cooler of what Michael suspected to be blood.

Without a word she placed the cooler in the backseat and the cash in a small black bag in the glove compartment.

Resuming their nocturnal drive, Michael dared to ask, "Where are we going?"

Selene didn't say a word, simply concentrating harder on the slick road ahead.

With an exasperated sigh, Michael resumed his window-gazing, pondering once more how he could have ever fallen for a woman like Selene. It was incomprehensible. Samantha had always been the kindest ray of sunshine, always smiling, always happy.

Her gaze was fixated on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel to the point where her knuckles whitened. Over a century of routine, shattered by one night of sheer hell, was nerve-wracking to the vampiress. Her mind was splitting from the inside out, all her carefully bottled-up emotions returning with a vengeance she had not experienced since the death of her family.

It was time for change.


They drove for hours on end, Selenes tireless gaze fixed solely on the road ahead, unsure of where she was going, unable to come to grips with her present situation, and definitely clueless on what to do with Michael.

She refused to admit any emotions she held towards him, other than a natural responsibility for him that came with anyone who decided to turn another.

As his sire, she felt slightly overwhelmed by the prospect of practically taking care of him.

A disgruntled sigh from the vehicles other occupant awoke Selene from her thoughts, causing her to instinctively whip her head towards the disturbance.

This sudden break from concentration allowed her to finally notice the gradual lightening of the horizon, forcing her to cease her journey to nowhere, and think more of her destination. Driving for the sake of driving would get them nowhere, and with increasing light threatening to char her body to a crisp, they'd have to find a place to rest and lay low somewhere.

Her cold eyes scanned the roadside for a hotel or inn that was open at this unearthly hour.

She soon found an appropriately disheveled motel, parked, and proceeded to exit the car. She paused, noticing the angelic expression on Michaels sleeping face, for he had fallen asleep a few hours into the drive.

It appears he's retained his human habit of sleeping at night.. She thought, a glimpse of a smile passing quickly over her features, before she swatted it away with an impatient scowl, mentally scolding herself.

She hurriedly exited the car, slamming its door almost in protest to her emotions, awakening its sleeping occupant with a start.

Why the hell does she always have to do that?! He berated, finding her stress relieving methods less than satisfying.

Only then did he realize their location.

"Vienna!?" He exclaimed incredulously, eyeing the near by 'Welcome' sign with a resolute glare.

He still hadn't finished gawking at the signpost when Selene returned, only rolling her eyes at his questioning glances.

"Yes, we're in Vienna. Now get up, quickly, sunrise is nearly upon us, and I don't suppose you'd want to be around when it hits." She commented, aware that Michael may or may not be as receptive to the damage of the suns eternal glare due to his transformation.

He grudgingly began to lift himself from the comfort of the car seat, until he fully realized the threat the sun posed to Selene and her kind.

Rising with much less reluctance, he immediately raced to relieve Selene of the few – but heavy – bags she held.

Selenes response was nothing more than a cold, calculating stare, and Michael backed off instantly, like a scolded puppy, instead busying himself with the surprisingly painstaking task of removing the cooler from the back seat.

His newfound strength aided him greatly, and he soon managed to unwedge the miniature refrigerator from its unorthodox position between the drivers and backseat.

Michael - cooler now in hand - jogged silently after Selene, as she had already gotten their room key, and was making for their 'suite'.

The building was a cramped run-down, with only 6 shabby rooms, and a 'lobby' of sorts, where processed human foods that made Michaels mouth water were sold.

He had almost forgotten his duty as hunger consumed him, urging him in the direction of the snack machine.

With a slightly glazed look over his eyes, he reached for some change – only to find that his pants were pocket-less due to his transformations, and that the tatters that were left of his shirt were fit for nothing less than rags.

Now painfully aware of his disheveled state, he quickly forgot his stomach, and set off to find Selene once more.

When he had carefully sniffed out the entrance to each preceding room, he found Selene in number 4, hastily unpacking her portable arsenal. Uncertainty and doubt was on her pale features, illuminated by the sickly glow of a single light-bulb, as she had inevitably drawn the blinds closed before the harmful rays of dawn could penetrate the vicinity.

Upon his entering, Selene motioned for Michael to place the cooler on the peeling surface of what must have once been a coffee table, though he doubted it could barely hold its own weight, never mind that of a blood-filled mini-fridge.

Turns out the dilapidated stool was sturdier than it seemed, and though he half-expected it to crumble at the smallest touch, it held out well, and Michael was thankful to be relieved of his burden.

Turning back to Selene, his own anxiety increased at the sight of her worry, and soon the temptation to verbalize his thoughts was too strong to resist.

"What's wrong?" He mumbled, expecting a cold glare, or a bitter remark his way, but was presently surprised when she merely shook her head and softly replied, "They'll find us.. Chances are they've already realized who.. Slew Viktor, and now they'll send Death Dealers, as many as they can muster after us.. They'll find us, there's no way they can't.."

This unexpected throw of emotions startled him, and for a moment all he could do was stand there and stare, almost longingly at Selene.

She turned her head slowly towards him, catching him staring quite openly, his face flushing red as his eyes immediately darted back to the floor.

As he gazed at the worn-off carpeting, she managed to notice his tattered garments. I completely forgot about clothing. She mused, then dismissed her thoughts for Michaels ragged attire, and thought of what they were to do next.

For a moment, she pondered, until a plan came to her mind as if stuck by lightning.

"We leave for Zagreb at nightfall! We'll pick up supplies there, and head for Belgrade,"

For the first time since Michael met Selene, he saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes, and as she voiced her plan in such likeness of a military general, he began to wonder if that precedent look of worry on her face was purely imagined.

"If I know anything about search parties, they'll probably have a few sent west, exactly where we are, but if we go south-east, we'll be able to avoid them entirely, and loop-up behind them!"

Her sudden burst of enthusiasm had poor Michael staring again, but this time she paid no attention, running through the plan in her mind a few times, before swiftly assembling her miniature arsenal once more, placing the sacred weapons in their proper cases.

Upon casing her Berettas, she yawned once, and as the natural stupor of her kind took over, she fell into sub-consciousness, half-curled over the moth-bitten bedspread, her Death Dealer attire still on.

This made Michael smile automatically, and the thought, I wonder if she ever takes it off.. crossed his mind.


Selene stayed true to her word, and a few hours before dusk she had packed all her possessions, and was sitting on the bed (as Michael was occupying the sofa), drinking tentatively from a plastic bag filled with a deep crimson liquid, marked Ziodex Industries.

She was never too fond of the coppery-tasting liquid, drinking it only for sustenance, and her face showed it.

Gingerly swallowing the last few drops in the bag, she made for the bathrooms sink, and with a bit of effort, managed to open the rusting tap, releasing the flow of unsurprisingly iron-tinted yellow water, rinsing the remains of the bag.

She disposed of the sack, then went towards a sleeping Michael, with the intent of waking him up.

"Michael.." Selene began, her voice barely above a whisper, her cold brown eyes softening slightly at the sight of his rising chest.

"Michael." She said, this time a little insistent.

After a trying minute of verbally attempting to rouse him, she finally gave up, and with an exasperated sigh, she drew a pistol.

Driving the muzzle of her weapon into his side with a twist, she got him to leap off the sofa, emitting a truly disturbing cross between a squeal and a growl.

Selene instinctively stepped aside, watching with a single eyebrow raised, and a tentative half-smile on her lips, shaking her head in mock disdain.

"What was that for?!" Michael hissed, still massaging what must have now become a bruise in his ribcage.

"You wouldn't wake up; I had been trying for ages." She replied dryly, swatting her smirk away with a simple roll of her eyes, as if she was stating the obvious.

Michael was on the verge of sending another childish comment her way, when he stopped himself short, and not a moment too soon.

Selene was now the one who stared, an odd look of worry on her face.

His eyes were black.