A/N: Heyyy, so this is chapter two. Bet'cha didn't guess that, huh? Lol. Sorry, it's midnight-thirty here and I'm posting this after working on it all day. Well, I wa working on it when I wasn't at work. Ugh.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own White Collar. Not even a little.

Warning(s): Swearing, violence, possible gore, mentions of rape, and somethings I'll probably add later...

Summary: Someone from Neal's past comes back to haunt him and things begin to get tricky. Let's just say Dragons aren't exactly the work of the scyfy channel anymore.

Peter watched the security feed if the elevator and sighed. The bureau should really invest in audio surveillance because whenever Neal didn't want anyone overhearing a conversation he took to the elevators. It seemed that the girl knew that very same trick because she had drug Neal into the hiding spot. It was driving Peter insane.

He couldn't see the girl's lips but he could see Neal's so that meant he was getting half of the conversation. Sadly, that meant he was only getting half the conversation. Peter told himself he wasn't invading Neal's privacy because Neal was a con and con's didn't get privacy but a little part of him was telling him that he was invading his friends privacy.

Peter forced himself to focus. Getting distracted wasn't going to help him figure out who this chick was and why Neal seemed so mad at her. Peter had never seen Neal throw a punch at any female, not even the ones that deserved it. Neal was pale and shaky so whatever that girl had said to him shook him up pretty badly. Peter started writing down questions.

Who was this girl and why was Neal so mad at her?

Who is Draco? (someone from Neal's past, maybe?)

Why were they talking about kids? Why would they need to 'borrow' one from a friend?

What was going on that had Neal so scared?

The next one wasn't really a question- it was more a reminder to himself.

Put in a janitorial request for the elevator cameras. Whenever Neal or the girl got angry the camera went on the fritz.

Somehow Neal managed to distract Peter from asking questions the whole rest of the day. The FBI agent had no idea how the con did it but it was done. He'd ask tomorrow.

Blood.

Pain.

Tears.

"No, please don't!" Ember begged, throwing her arms out in an attempt to defend herself, "Stop!" She sobbed as she tried to fight the thick arm that was pressing down on her throat. The four Werewolves chuckled darkly. They were enjoying her panic.

"Y'hear that boys?" The largest male snickered, "She said 'please'. I guess we hafta let 'er go now, huh?" He sneered at her and spat in her face as he grabbed her from his pack mate and thrust her against the large tree. A sickening snap echoed from inside Ember and she let out a strangled cry. The Alpha grinned widely, "Ohh, that sounded like a rib. That's gotta hurt."

The other wolves laughed as they bounced impatiently on their feet. They were excited. The stench of their arousal was sour and made Ember gag. The Alpha instructed the others to hold her against the tree as he removed her clothes with his knife. He licked her skin before biting into it and ripping her flesh open, "I am gonna enjoy wrecking you, Dragon." He breathed into her ear before thrusting into her. Ember screamed in agony each time he forced himself back into her. They didn't slow down. Once the Alpha was done he let the others have their turns. Her torture seemed to go on for years. She knew it could only have been a few hours but it seemed like eons.

The Alpha grabbed her face in his meaty grip and forced her to look him in the eyes, "At least you Dragons are good for one thing." He stabbed her in the abdomen three times before he and his pack walked off, leaving Ember beaten and broken a few miles into the forest.

Ember gasped as she jolted awake. She choked on the air as it rubbed her throat raw. She'd been screaming in her sleep, she knew she had been. Her throat was sore and she coughed up bits of blood. She glanced at the clock, trying to distract herself from the memory-dream she'd had. It was barely two in the morning. She knew she wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon so she got dressed and headed outside quickly.

She hugged herself tightly and shivered. It was partly because New York was cold as balls at night and partly because of her nerves. Her silver-white scales glittered in the moonlight. They were sprinkled over her shoulders, back, and arms like beautifully crafted tattoos. She glanced around, trying to decide where to go as she walked. She didn't care where she went so long as she didn't think about what had happened to her.

It didn't work.

She ended up pressing her hand to her abdomen and fighting back tears at Grand Central Station. She was sitting in the corner where no one could really see her. She liked it that way. If she could stay invisible no one could attack her. She cried silently. She cried because she was hurt, she cried because she was alone, but mostly she cried because of what those wolves did to her and what that lead to.

Infertility.

The Doctor had said it was common among rape victim with wounds as bad as hers. She didn't care. All she was hearing was that she would never have children. She had cried so much that day that she threw up. She didn't eat for five days and she didn't even bother getting dressed. Finally she realized she was at the house the wolves had found her at and she knew she had to leave.

She forced herself to seem normal so if she ran into anyone she knew they wouldn't ask her what happened. She hadn't told anyone what had happened and she didn't plan on doing so anytime soon. She wanted to forget that night but every time she felt like she was actually getting back to normal she had the memory-dream and she dropped back into her depressive state.

It was so hard to act like she was okay when she was anything but okay.

Ember forced herself to stand so she could start walking back to the motel she was staying at. She wiped her eyes and took several deep breaths. She couldn't really see past her tears but she figured she could find her way back anyways. She didn't count on bumping into anyone.

She stumbled backwards and was caught by a firm- yet gentle- grip. She started to make apologies but a far too familiar voice stopped her cold, "Ember? What's wrong?" Neal asked her, helping her get steady on her feet.

She blinked at him, furiously wiping her eyes, "N-nothing. I'm f-fine." She tried to walk away but Neal held her tightly.

"That's bullshit. You're not fine. Come on, you're coming home with me." Neal insisted and they were up in his apartment by the time Ember realized that this wasn't something Neal would normally do.

Ember frowned, "Why are you being so nice to me? I thought you hated me?"

"I'm not completely heartless. No matter what, you're my Mate and I can't let you go on living in the kind of pain you're in."

"Wha-"

"The empathic bond goes both ways, Em." He said gently, reaching out to touch her face.

His hand wasn't big, it wasn't meaty like the wolves but Ember recoiled anyways. Her mind flashed back to that night and she trembled. She whimpered pathetically, her eyes turned black. Her fear shook her to her core and she felt her sanity chip away piece by piece, "Don't hurt me, please. I'll do anything." She wasn't seeing Neal anymore, no; she was suddenly with the wolves. They had her and they weren't going to let her go.

Not this time.

Neal's eyes widened as he slipped into Ember's mind. She was broken and it was his fault. He saw everything she'd been through. He felt what the Werewolves had done to her and he couldn't help the rage that flared through him. Neal's pupils turned to slits as his irises changed to a liquid silver color. Silver white scales sprouted on his arms, shoulders, and back and smoke wafted from his nostrils.

Flame wisps fluttered out from between his lips as he clenched his fists, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Ember whispered as she rocked back and forth. She had her knees tucked up against her chest and she was crying. Neal instantly deflated. Here was his Mate, crying and broken and all he was doing was scaring her even more.

What he did next didn't change his feelings for her, he still hated her but he couldn't just let her stay broken. He scooped her up into his arms and shushed her when she tried to wriggle away. He calmed her down as he sat on the couch with her. They watched mindless TV and Neal felt himself smile when she fell asleep in his arms, clutching his shirt as though it were her lifeline.

No, this didn't change anything.

At all.