Chapter 2

Kate was pulled into a far more upmarket area than she would ever have chosen to be. She resisted with every step but there was nothing she could do. She might be ridiculously strong, ridiculously fast, but no one was invincible.

He was a regular reminder that she could not win every fight.

He lived in a 5 star penthouse, even though he couldn't sleep there. It wasn't really an issue – he owned the whole building. Kate stopped a few feet from him, finally close enough that the tearing pull on her body ended.

"Hello, Kate."

"Bracken."

"Call me William."

"William," she choked out. He smiled. If it had been physically possible she would have been sick. He reached out to touch her cheek. She shuddered. She wished she were dead.

More dead.

She stayed quiet. She knew he wanted her to ask him what he wanted. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He got only what she had no control over.

"How have you been?"

She stayed silent.

"Answer, Kate."

"Fine."

"Fine..?"

"Fine, thank you."

He sucked the words from her, just as he had sucked her dry nine years ago, just as he would continue to do, whenever he wanted, until one day she would catch him unawares and drive a stake through his heart. Even considering the idea was absurd. She would never manage it. Even if by some miracle she got close enough without him noticing, he could simply order her not to kill him.

And that wasn't even the worst part. A part of her... A part of her didn't want to kill him. Again. A part of her felt sorry for him, because someone had done this to him too – how he was wasn't his fault. She could understand his loneliness, his wish for a companion. And the murderous aspect... She had a feeling the transformation she had undergone had affected her brain too.

She wasn't a different person. But her moral compass was a little... off. She had to correct it with memories, what she knew was right, what her mother would have done-

Her mother. That brought the hatred back immediately. She couldn't believe she had been feeling something like sympathy for this murderer. Because he was a murderer, and nothing more.

So was she.

Perhaps she deserved no better than him. She couldn't get away from the idea that perhaps she let him control her – that there should be some way she could stop him from making her do all the things he made her do. From any perspective but her own, the crimes she had committed, the lives he had forced her to take, were hers, not his. She had killed. Many times. The fact that she hadn't been in control of her own body at the time she saw as somehow her fault – and following that, the crimes were her responsibility too.

She would carry the guilt with her forever.

Forever, until she killed him, then finally ended her own 'life'.

His gaze suddenly forced her to her knees in front of him.

"Feeling murderous?"

It was worse when she was closer to him. He was always aware of her, she was sure – he hadn't told her exactly how it worked. But when she was close he could tell what she was feeling. It worked both ways... She could feel him too, his sick, violent mind throbbing away inside her own.

"Always," she answered, staring at his feet. He forced her head up with just his mind. He was old, so old, and so powerful.

"I forbid you to kill me. Or yourself," he added with a small smile. "You should be thankful. I gave you life, true life. Many would love your existence."

Not all of it, she thought hard, hoping he would catch her derision without her having to speak. It was rash... She felt his lust wash over her. And the worst part was, it washed into her too. She hated him with every fibre of her body, ever polluted, corrupted cell. But she wanted this. Her self loathing only multiplied as he allowed her to stand and gently kissed her cheek.

"I'm going away for a while," he told her afterwards; she lay perfectly still on the comfortable bed. She didn't need to breathe or fidget; she kept her eyes closed and tried to shut off all of her senses.

"This has been a hard decision... But I have to leave. The length of the while... Has to be several lifetimes. And much as I would like to take you with me... You may not believe me, but I never wanted to hurt you, Kate."

He was right. She didn't believe him.

"I didn't. I... I did what I had to."

He actually sounded as if he was feeling some emotion. Kate hadn't thought this was even possible.

"But I know you hate me and I... it would still be pointless to try to kill me. Or yourself. Do not harm yourself. But... I release you."

Kate was out of the bed like a shot, her clothes were on and she was out of the room and the building and the area before... before anything. Before she could do something stupid. Before he could change his mind.

Could he even change his mind? She searched her own and found... nothing. Not a trace of him, not a trace of his influence. He was gone.

Nine years of being a slave, a slave to his every whim and desire, and now...

She stopped running. She had no idea where she was. Still somewhere affluent, with nice bars and an expensive looking club. There were a few people milling about in the street. She realised she wasn't really dressed right, but damn, she needed a drink.

She slipped into an alleyway and took off her pants, using her clever, strong fingers to rip them into shorts. Her tight shirt lost its sleeves and a large section of the neckline; she tore it into a low V. She put the clothes back on, tucking the shirt back in. She took off her socks, but her black sneakers would have to do. She examined her wobbly reflection in a car window. Her lean, nineteen year old body was shown off beautifully in her 'new' outfit; her pale creamy skin smooth and flawless, her long legs already attracting the attention of passers by.

She was free. She couldn't believe it, it hardly felt possible. But at the same time, just as she had always felt his presence, his absence was there in her mind, an empty space that new emotions could fill. She could be so much stronger without him. She realised she could end it, if she wanted. He no longer had any control, his orders meant nothing. She experimented, digging a fingernail into her arm. A drop of blood appeared and she watched as the small cut healed over again.

She didn't want this to be it. She wanted more. Good things. Fun things. She wanted to enjoy her freedom.

She didn't even need to hypnotise the bouncer, he was more than happy to let her in. She disapproved. She was only nineteen! Her ID saying she was twenty-eight was completely unbelievable now. She tried to keep calm. Despite her freedom, it wasn't difficult to dull her mood with thoughts of her creator – especially because of their activities over the last couple of hours.

It wasn't rape. Anyway, he had already murdered her. What more could he have done?

And he was leaving the country. She realised he had probably released her because he was in trouble with their kind and didn't want her to be involved. She very much hoped so. She hoped they killed him. She wondered if she would at least get to feel it.

She wished she could forget him but still he weighed down on her. She watched the humans get drunk. She didn't think any of them deserved what she was going to do, but she would find one who was too drunk to notice, and could give them a happy memory of their choosing.

She sat down at the bar and ordered a whisky.

"I'll get that for you," said a voice. She turned to find a ruggedly handsome, blue eyed man. He looked miserable – but absolutely fascinated by her. He was perceptive, he had seen some difference... He probably wasn't even aware that he'd noticed anything. He just thought he was attracted to her.

And yet his body language suggested he didn't plan to do anything. Kate realised she was far too young for him. In real years, not. But in looks... definitely.

"Thank you," she said, allowing him to pay for her drink – or rather, add it to his tab.

"Yes, Mr Castle," the barman said. Kate blinked and held out her hand.

"Kate," she said, feeling the warmth of his skin and his delicious pulse as he shook it with his.

"Rick," he said, her skin wonderfully cool against his; he wished he didn't have to let her hand go. She was breathtaking. Far too young, of course, but there was no crime in looking – her outfit invited him to look. Her could of wavy, dark hair bounced on her shoulders as she ignored her drink and watched him sit down beside her.

"Richard Castle?" she asked, her tone only mildly hinting at her surprise, though inside she was close to a screaming wreck of a fan.

"That's me."

"The writer?"

He chuckled. "And here I was thinking my fans were all middle aged women."

Kate smiled. "I don't think I'm middle aged. I am a woman, though."

Hardly, Rick thought sadly. Her expression seemed older. He told himself it seemed older. He downed his own whisky in one and ordered another. Kate slid hers towards him too.

"Why get a drink if you don't want it?" he asked.

"To have a reason to sit here," she said, watching him as he swallowed down more of the alcohol. But she couldn't. Not him. He had a daughter. Not that she would hurt him, but-

"I think you've had enough," she said gently. She didn't even hypnotise him. Well, perhaps her outfit had done that already, but she didn't use any power other than her body. "I'll walk you home."

He nodded. He would have nodded if she'd told him she was going to saw his arm off.

He wasn't really drunk. The walk through the cool night was fairly pleasant, though not far enough for Kate's liking. She delivered him at his door. He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek; she felt weak at the knees. She told herself that was just her inner fangirl. But...

He went inside, smiling. She leaned against the wall and sighed. He might be feeling better, but now she felt miserable. And she still hadn't had her drink.

She felt lonely, too. Lonely and used and angry. She was finally free, yet she hadn't killed him. She might have had a chance. He would be long gone now. It could be hundreds of years before she had an opportunity like that again. She roared as she charged out into the road, running to get out of the city as fast as possible. She made it to an area of woodland by a lake. She grabbed hold of a tree, her fingers digging into the bark as easily as if it were butter. She gave it a tug and pulled it right out of the ground.

She was a tornado, tearing at trees and plants and the ground, whirling and attacking, leaving havoc in her wake.

She dived into the water to clean up – and to calm down. She stayed under for almost an hour, swimming up and down, trying to tire herself out.

She still hadn't eaten since Jared.

It was enough. She didn't need more tonight, not really. She could feel dawn coming. The sun would be up in an hour. She climbed out of the lake and began to run home, her speed air drying her hair and clothes. She got back about half an hour before she would be out for the day; she went to her fridge and opened a blood pack. She wouldn't be in control when she woke up, otherwise. She drained it in seconds. She wanted more, but she always did.

She took a shower, scrubbing at her body under the burning hot water which had no effect on her whatsoever. Her favourite cherry body wash still didn't make her feel clean. She could feel her eyelids growing heavy. The sun was rising. She shut off the water and just had time to dry herself, pull on a t-shirt and get into bed before she lost consciousness.


Thanks for reading and for all the alerts I got even in the first few hours this has been up - please continue to let me know what you think! X