Author's Note

I just wanted to put a brief note here to explain the setting. I've left out a bit of a gap between The Full Circle and this story. I'm still trying to find the inspiration to write that part…

This picks up about six months after The Full Circle. Selene and Michael are no longer in their Budapest apartment, but were approached by the new leader of the cleaners, Arthur Riley. He "made them an offer they couldn't refuse" (hehe) and they decided to join the merry band of cleaners.

Setting-wise, we're looking at a sort of secluded spot near the Carpathian Mountains.

Thanks for reading.

Ari

Chapter One:

Damp Sheets

Writhing, panting, gasping.

The feel of sheets damp with sweat.

The steady motion of the grind, the aching need of fulfilment and completion.

So much passion, so much ecstasy.

So much pain.

Tears now, falling to mingle with the fluids already blended in the fabric of the sheets.

Then, again, the pulsating urgency.

The rapid motions of the first of all needs. Procreation created this act. Fears are long since forgotten.

But the pain stays, all too real.

Warmth within. Those final tantalising moments of climax where that glistening prize is claimed.

And yet more fluids to cover the sheets.

He stumbles from the bed, bare and glistening in the moonlight. Shadows hide his expression as he turns around. Hair falls across his face, all so endearing.

The words need not come. No requisite explanation. Need is fulfilled and emptiness returns.

More tears.

He returns now, warm hands upon her cheeks. Wet with tears. Tenderness exudes from a kiss to the palm.

'Do not go,' those whispered words, 'Please do not go,' repeated in sorrow.

'You know I must.' No explanations required. They know why. This cannot be. Theirs is a world that would not understand, would curse them.

'But I need you here,' hands grasped in pleading. More kisses. Life is mere emptiness without love and passion.

Their passion. Once more in those damp sheets. Tender kisses, stroking tongues. Penetration deep within, and sweat again.

She cries, 'I need you!' Taken now to a new and better place. No dreamers or broken hearts. Only passion. No more betrayal.

And now the hunger. Deep within, movement, nausea. She grasps his shoulders. 'No!' she cries. 'Stay with me!'

He now lies beside her. They watch each other in silence. Bare bodies in the moonlight, on a bed of damp sheets. She knows he must leave. He knows he cannot bare it.

The silence breaks, 'I must tell you,' her voice soft. 'You cannot leave me like this.' Eyes full of tears. 'I cannot do this without you.'

Confusion strikes his mind. Incomprehension reigns, 'You will be fine.'

His hand taken in hers. Pressed now to her skin, soft skin.

'Your child,' her words, 'Grows within me.'

Tears fall yet again.

A cold sweat covered her body, causing the thin sheet to stick uncomfortably. It was that dream again, that all too real vision of the past that somehow she could not delete.

Beside her, Michael slept soundly. If nothing more, it indicated that tonight unlike others she had not cried out to awaken him. He was always so anxious for her, always so caring. Had her mind not been in such turmoil, his deep and peaceful breaths would have lulled her into her own pleasant slumber. As it was, sleep was becoming as untouchable as the very dreams that kept her awake.

Careful not to stir her sleeping mate, she peeled the sheet's covering from her, sliding uneasily out of their queen-size bed. She took a moment on the edge of the bed to rearrange the oversized black night shirt she wore to bed before she awkwardly got to her feet, bound for the bathroom.

The carpet beneath her feet was course and scratchy; the air thick with a choking moisture. Her skin still prickled with sweat, even her hair clung to her face in dampened strands. It was all tiresome, too bothersome for her mood this early in the morning. But she knew that it was, in fact, just her mood that was portraying all of her regular surroundings as annoyances. She was uncomfortable, exhausted, and above all troubled by her nightly dreams of a love and lover that were long deceased.

She pushed the door open to their adjoining bathroom, sighing at the rush of cold air that greeted her from the porcelain tiled room. Her feet felt more at ease on the cool tiles, while the chill in the air removed the prickles from her skin.

It did not remove her thoughts of the past, however. She feared that nothing short of death would remove those thoughts. His face was now distorted in her memory, his body's outline no doubt warped with centuries since she had last seen him. But his softly sensual voice with its intoxicating lilt played on her always. The way he made her feel, the way he tormented her on the brink of ecstasy time and time again. Even though their love had been forbidden, she still felt a thrill at the impending danger of being caught.

And then the pregnancy.

As she looked in the mirror above the sink, she realised that her plaguing dreams were not completely without a catalyst. Here she was, six centuries after those tumultuous times, sleeping nightly beside someone that she loved. The swell of her stomach was a constant reminder of the present, and of the love she felt for Michael Corvin.

But it was also a reminder of the past; of the forbidden love, of the unwanted pregnancy, and of being left alone once she found the strength to tell the father of their unborn child.

The child within her now was wanted, though not expected or planned. Both she and Michael thrilled at the idea of becoming parents, and of sharing something wonderful that was created from their love. She smiled as she placed her hands on her stomach. She knew Michael would never leave, that he would do anything to see both her and their child through to the end of this pregnancy.

She would not lose this child as she did the last.

Her smile faded as a new memory replaced the first. The pain of her most extreme loss: not only her forbidden lover, but of their child. The agony she had felt, unable to tell her family its cause. They rallied around her in her time of need, but they never knew the truth. If they had, she was certain they would have sent her away.

"Selene?"

She startled at the sound of her mate's voice, realising she had spent more time than necessary away from their bed. Tears were stinging her eyes, and she found she could not allow Michael to see her in such a state. She leant over the sink, running the cold water she splashed on her face. When she straightened, she found his arms snaking around her.

"Are you okay?" he whispered against her neck, his breath a pleasant warm contrast to the chill of the bathroom.

She nodded, giving him a smile to still his concern. "I couldn't sleep." She found her voice to be broken. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

Michael shook his head, trailing his lips along her shoulder as he did. "I wanted to hold you, but you weren't there." He raised his face to meet her gaze in the mirror. "Was it the dream again?"

She hesitated before nodding slowly. He did not know the true content of the dreams. After waking with a cry, awaking him in the process, she needed to feed him some story.

She told him it was the centuries of battle, of the lycans she had killed. However deserving, she had said, becoming a mother now enforced the consequences of her actions. Now she realised that each lycan she had killed was a son, a daughter; possibly even a mother or a father. She said that the reality of what she had done had caught up with her, and it hurt.

It was not at all true: she never regretted slaying what she believed to be her enemies. The lycans were curs, and while each one she killed had been someone's child once upon a time, so had she. She was someone's child, and she had seen her entire family lay slain by Viktor; someone that she had since looked up to as a father figure. Someone she had since killed.

Shit happened.

She hated being so dishonest, hated lying to Michael when all he did was care for her. Yet she still felt the fear of rejection if he was to find out the truth.

He turned her in his arms so that they were face to face. Rather than kiss her, he merely held her. She stayed in his embrace a moment before allowing her arms to encircle him.

"I don't want you involved in any of the work here," he said in a low voice. "Not if it's causing you this much anxiety."

"No." She pulled herself away from him, seeking out his eyes. "I want to be involved. The dreams are manageable." She knew it was a feeble lie, whether he knew the truth in her dreams or not. She did not believe her own words, and did not have the strength to back them. "Besides, the squad needs me."

"Selene, you haven't properly slept in days. When you do sleep, you're restless and you keep crying out. You need rest. It's not healthy for you to go on like this."

She loved his concern, loved his care. She hated that she caused those lines of worry to break out on his young, handsome face.

"I can't give it up, Michael." To her astonishment, she found her voice emerging with a tremble. "The war is all I've known. Without it, I'm-" She paused to sigh, now allowing her tears to fall. "Lost," she finished in a whisper. "I'm nothing."

His warm hand grazed her cheek. "It's not all you are anymore, Selene." He placed his hand on her stomach, circling a path with his thumb. "You're going to be a mother. You're carrying our baby. The war will not end without you. But you must take this time to rest. Going on like this, you're only harming yourself."

She followed his trailing hand, picturing their growing child within. She knew he spoke only the truth and that his words were borne of love rather than created to instil fear. Still, she could not shake the feeling that to withdraw from the frontline would give her cause for more anxiety.

She stood on a knife's edge, teetering dangerously; one side meant her sanity would be saved, but risked the life of her child. The other provided motherhood as long as she could settle for stillness for the remaining two months of her pregnancy.

Closing her eyes, she let her tears fall unguarded. He knew her turmoil in this instance, knew how hard it was for her to leave her old life behind.

Michael's fingers brushed her chin, raising her face to his. "For our baby," he said softly. "And for me. Please." He closed in, his lips meeting hers for a soft, sweet kiss. "Please," he repeated against her lips.

This time, it was she that initiated the kiss. Tightening her hold, she gripped him as if afraid he would float away. She held that kiss, moaning slightly as she felt the flick of his tongue against hers.

When she finally pulled away, she was breathless. It was her turn to whisper against his lips. "For you, I would do anything."

It was his moan that sounded as he kissed her once more, gathering her into his arms without breaking that kiss. He carried her to the bed.

Once more she found herself in sweat dampened sheets; this time beneath a body that she was certain loved her. His pace was slow and gentle to avoid the risk of affecting their unborn child, yet his thrusts still had all the ingredients to drive her gasping to the edge of ecstasy.

Once she had come down from that high, the turmoil within her returned. She lay with her mate pressed against her back, his arms wrapped around her middle, his hands protecting their unborn child even in sleep.

Her last thought as her mind fought those last cling-on tendrils of consciousness was one that did not ease her conscience.

The face of her sister, swollen and red with tears.

And the innocent, questioning faces of her darling nieces.

How could she have betrayed them so?