My Beloved Enemy

Book One: A Time to Live and a Time to Die

Chapter One

The Realms of Darkness

Disclaimer: I don't own Denny's… no wait that's not right… I don't own 13 Ghosts, yeah let's go with that.

Summery (Book One): Jackal comes across Lora who's recently died. Denying that she's deceased, she sets off to find her grave. Jackal follows (with other things in mind) yet it doesn't seem like he can get a chance to rape her while being hunted down by a huge murdering ghost named Korr (who's orders are to bring her back to the circus). Much annoyance follows. YAY!

Rating: R. Warning- there shall be a lemon (or two, heh) in later, er, books.

Gray clouds hovered above like a massive sheet of cotton, hanging vacantly above the underlying earth below. Even now as the restless spirit wandered aimlessly through the woods the world around him kept motionless, except the falling snow. Nothing stirred in his wake, to do so would mean one would meet a most grizzly death.

Being the free spirit he was, the phantom drifted without direction or purpose, speaking to no one and keeping to himself. His heart was as cold as the chill in the air, and the cold of death kept the snow from melting as it hit his skin. White specks caught in his blackened hair, his yellow eyes peering into the dimness of the twilight hour- nothing kept him moving and nothing could get in his way. He existed with no reason or cause- he just was.

Most of the others from 'the incident' had stayed together for safety and comfort, he hadn't wanted the responsibility, nor had he the patience, to keep in the close-knit group. So as soon as they were free he took his leave, not that it mattered, it wasn't as if he owed them anything anyways. Life, or in his case death, was easier when all one had to worry about was oneself.

He had played with the idea of haunting his old home, the Borehamwood Asylum, but the idea of returning not only brought painful memories, but frightened him beyond belief. To return to a place where there was so much anguish and suffering was a new torture all its own, and he just couldn't bring himself to it. And so he lingered, wandering from place to place, knowing that staying long would only cause him to be forced from his new home either by exorcism or another ghost.

As night approached it would've been wise to find a place to stay the night. Though the poltergeist was rather formidable, there were others much more dangerous than he, especially during hours of darkness. He walked on a while, somewhat searching, but began to fear that he'd never find a place to rest. Finding a place to sit, he allowed himself to rest at the top of a very large hill, if only but a moment. It was quiet and peaceful, the icy breeze nothing but a hushed whisper.

His eyes soon caught something of interest that lay at the end of the winding path- a tent. To be more specific, a circus tent. He figured it'd be as good a place as any and forced himself up again, though his legs protested- sore and aching. As he drew closer he became more earnest upon reaching his destination, longing for warmth and a place to linger for a while.

Reaching the tent he realized how weathered the banded tent was, the red faded from the sun and the beating of the rain while the white yellow with age. Tears and rips had been patched over the years, the large clefts and yawning chasms mingling together in a horrific fashion, the threads of the stitches becoming as teeth, looking as if one drew too close it would unquestionably leave you with a missing appendage or two. All in all, it wasn't the least bit becoming and the spook desired somewhere less occupied for his resting place.

Without thinking he roamed into the next tent, it looking a bit more inviting, less weathered and cold. Perhaps it was a work of fate that brought him there, he couldn't really say, but as his eyes scanned the room they settled upon something very familiar. A hefty glass tank, silver words scrawled across its being, sat unyielding in the back of the tent. How harsh and cruel it looked, just as his prison had back at the glass mansion, yet it being in the wake of a dusty little carnival sideshow made it all the more dire for that who was sitting inside of it.

At first he could not recognize if she was of the living or dead, for she looked very much alive. The only thing that gave her away was her paled skin, and even that in its own was hauntingly beautiful. Her eyes were deep set and dark, contrasting his own yellow ones, yet they were softer than his as well, not harsh and determined. Her hair was lengthy and straight, it parted right down the middle and fell across her shoulders. The echo of footsteps rang in his ears, his eyes shifting from the girl to a man. He was relatively short, though lanky, with black, greased hair and a pair of light blue squinty eyes. He came off as a weasel of a man to say the least, but Jackal slunk back a bit, keeping himself well hid from either of the two in the room.

"Come on, come on!" he rapped madly on the glass with his knuckles. His voice was whiny and shrill, not to mention loud, which caused both ghosts to flinch slightly at the sound. "You're a stubborn little bitch, aren't you?" He paced in front of the tank like a wild animal, one of his hands balled up into a fist and pounding on the palm of his other hand, like the mallet of a judge. "What to do… what to do?" He quickly stopped in his tracks, groaning loudly he looked upwards, as if he was expecting an answer from God himself. Tearing off his glasses the man chucked them on the table near the tank, well… he tried to anyways, though his aim was off and they skidded across the floor, hitting the back of the tent. "You better attract some customers," he warned in a testy voice, storming out of the tent, "or I'll really give them something to watch."

Two yellow eyes trailed up and down her body, them not leaving her for a moment while the man held his fit. It was his only way for comforting her, though he knew she didn't know he was there, perhaps she'd feel his eyes on her and not be so miserable. Perhaps she'd find a bit of hope in the fact that those eyes were never absent throughout the entire ordeal; that they would give her strength. But then, that was just his way of sympathizing. As he drew closer to her he picked up her natural womanly scent, along with something else he couldn't put his finger on. It was enthralling nonetheless and he snuck up right behind her, laying low for the time. It was no matter because it appeared that she'd already picked up on his presents.

Two brown eyes met with two yellow ones, hers growing in either awe or shock, he wasn't sure. They traveled along his face, the scars and burns… the cage. The thought that she could very well be terrified into a sate of shock entered his mind, and he toyed with the idea a moment and let it pass as she opened her mouth to speak, only to bring it back when no words emitted from her mouth. Her eyes traveled down, tangling themselves in his cage, caressing his jacket, pricking at his claws. She didn't scream, she didn't even gasp, her eyes just moved across his entire being in what seemed to be one eased motion. A smile played on his lips as her eyes came back to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow and she mimicked him, her eyes becoming amused with his behavior.

"Are you gonna say something or just stare at me?" she asked finally. It wasn't playful the way she asked, but something he hadn't heard in a tone before. It sounded like she was yielding a friendly gesture, like extending ones hand or smiling. Yet no smile had caressed her face, at least, not to his knowledge. "Well?"

"Well?" he repeated and walked to the front of the tank, looking it over carefully. She seemed relived that he could actually speak -she'd wondered for a moment if perhaps he was unable seeing that he just looked at her. He seemed to have lost all interest in her for the moment, his eyes glued to the tank she was confined to. He yawned, his eyes closing and his fangs gleaming from the saliva that clung to them. It seemed to have started a chain reaction because she yawned as well, then he once more. He smirked, finding this game foolish he forced himself to suppress the yawn.

"What exactly are you?" her voice held question and bid him for his attention. Both eyes snapped up, grabbing a harsh hold of her own. A low growl emitted from his throat, his eyes set ablaze by the question. Yes, he knew he didn't hold the charm he once had when he was alive, but that didn't mean he needed to be reminded of it. Truly, this girl could not be so dense as to ask him what he was. Wasn't it obvious? Did she believe he was some sort of alien or demon perhaps? Either way, it was clear he wasn't happy. "I didn't mean to offend you," she started but it didn't seem he heard a single thing she said. Her words trailed off into nothingness, her eyes shifting away from his gaze.

"What do you mean" his voice was harsh, "by asking what I am?"

"You just," she hesitated, "don't look human, is all." She quickly learned that this was the wrong answer and that she needed to reconcile and do it quickly at that. "I didn't-"

"Just because you died an easy death," he cut her off, "doesn't give you the right to insult others that meet an untimely demise." If she hadn't appeared confused before, she sure did now.

"Wait," she frowned, "huh? What the hell are you talking about?" Realization dawned on him and a playful smirk blanketed his face- she wasn't aware that she was dead yet, she must've died a few days before. A low chuckle worked its way out and he shook his head slowly, the cage hitting the back of his head. Amused he looked up, only to set her straight, rather blankly.

"You're dead," he gave a quirky grin, "deceased, departed, lifeless, you've kicked the bucket. You're pushing up daisies, dead as a doornail, a ghost, a spook, a soul that will wander the earth until you either cross over or kingdom comes." He leaned against the tank, his eyes narrowing. "Is any of this sinking in?" She blinked. "Dense are you, eh?"

"N-no," she shook her head, "but I don't look like you."

"For that," he gave a nod, "I am glad." She just looked at him. "You don't have to look like me to be dead, love. I've seen far better, and far worse."

"If I'm dead," she paused, "why aren't I in heaven or hell or… something?"

"Purgatory," he chuckled, "purgatory, my dear." Her eyes lowered to the floor for a moment. "Tell me, how does one such as yourself become caught it such a," he tapped the tank, "predicament?"

"I can't remember," she muttered, "I just woke up here." He paused a moment, his eyes darting across the room. She died in her sleep, that much was apparent, but she didn't seem sickly. His eyes became amused once more- quite likely she was murdered.

"One does not remember," he snickered, "because one does not wish to remember. Or at least that's what I'm told."

"Is there a reason you're here?" her voice was annoyed now and he chuckled again, jumping over and sitting on the table.

"Not really," he leaned back and forth, "I can see you're very busy sulking, I hope you don't mind that I linger a while."

"Aren't you supposed to be off, licking your balls or something?" she growled.

"I thought that was your job," he mused.

"Not even if you paid me," her chest fell as she heaved a sigh and leaned back against the glass.

"How about for your freedom?" he insisted, taking the keys from the table and dangling them from one of his claws. His smile widened greatly seeing the interest spark in her eyes. She was confused and trapped, so easily taken advantage of, he wouldn't even have to rape her, she'd come willingly. Her lips pressed together forming a thin line; he could almost see her debate with herself, arguing if she should give in and be free or stay locked away. It seemed that fate wouldn't let him have her for himself, just yet, because they were interrupted by a man with another pair of glasses and a very large ghost. Ryan cocked an eyebrow and the girl gulped.

"Shit," she breathed. "Uh, you think maybe you should hurry up with those keys?" Her eyes had become desperate and pleading, he grimaced. The opposing ghost was huge, bigger than Breaker, huskier than Hammer, deadlier than Jackal… His eyes were deep pits, blackened by some unknown force. If the girl thought Ryan wasn't human, there was no telling WHAT she thought this guy was. Jackal could see what was going on: the man wanted to attract costumers, what better than to see a young girl get raped repeatedly by something horrific and three times her size? If Ryan wanted her, he'd have to get her out now. In two quick movements Jackal had the tank door wide open and he took a firm grasp of the girl.

"Grab 'em!" the little man howled and the ghost obliged. No time to run physically, Jackal pulled the girl close to him, wrapping on arm around her waist.

"Hold on," he warned her and they both vanished, reappearing and disappearing several times in a variety of locations. When he finally stopped, he found his prize had either fainted or wasn't used to fazing, betting his money on the second one. It wasn't as if he could do anything now anyways, they were being tracked and he didn't have the time to have any fun. He sighed, wondering how exactly he got stuck rescuing some dense twit from the circus, who didn't even believe that she was really dead. She smiled faintly and her hand clutched his jacket tighter, her body only being supported by him and him alone. He picked her up and sighed. "You better be a good fuck," he grumbled, "or I'll…" he paused, he couldn't exactly kill her now could he? "Heh," he laughed faintly and they vanished again.

Author's note: Okay so this is my first 13 Ghosts FanFiction so bear with me, alright? Now Jackal isn't soft, its just things are gonna keep preventing him from raping her until its too late! you'll see. Now he is smart guys! I figure well… he has animal instincts AND he kills people (heh, you know you love those criminal minds) so he should be smart… right? Oh shut up and just review.

-Peace out-