Chapter Two – (Bleed) I Must Be Dreaming

It's, not what it seems,

Not what you think,

No, I must be dreaming...

Okay.

Let's not panic.

Mostly because frantic panicing irritates me and I SO do not need that right now. I've been removed from the Creep-Master's erethreal prescence. Who the fuck is that overlord bastard? And who the fuck are these minions that don't trust me to walk, so one of them has me tucked to his chest in the most freaking awkward painful position known to man?

I give a sharp whistle and snap my fingers with my free hand. "Hey! HEY! Mass murdering fucker, would you be ever so kind as to put me the fuck down so I can walk already?"

His hold on me tightens and the other one – the guy who's "contacts" I complimented on the way in stifles a laugh. Needless to say, I have realised that they're his real eyes. I'm not THAT much of a moron.

"Aro's right, Metri, she's a firecracker alright," he chuckles. 'Metri' smirks. I assume. I can't see him because the back of my head is crushed against his rock-solid chest and I can't look up. But I can HEAR the smirk in his voice when he speaks.

"So it appears," he drawls. Then he addresses me. "Young one, do you think that I am so unintelligent that I do not realise you will run away once I put you down?" He gives a dark chuckle that makes icy shivers tingle down my spine. "I must say, I am moratally offended."

I suck in a breath. I want to thrash and fight back – AGAIN – but it's pointless. It turns out they're a good couple hundred times stronger than me. Motherfuckers. "And I must say," I imitate his British accent, which I am trying very very hard to find annoying. I like Brit accents, ok? Shoot me. "I am offended that you don't think I've figured out that you'd be able to catch me if I did."

'Metri' stops mid-stride, and because we're going freakishly fast, I'm jolted in his grip. I give an inaudible grumble in complaint.

"You know, you're right," he says smoothly. And then in an uber-quick move his arms release me and I'm dropped to his feet. Pain shoots from the bottom of my back, up my spine and down my legs. Not to mention my ass. It hurts a lot, but I don't say anything. I'm exhausted. I'm hungry and cold and I have to blink fiercely to rid my eyes of traitor tears. I almost miss the plane.

The second monster bites his lip. "C'mon Demetri, don't be so mean. She's just a bitty little human."

I decide I like this guy a lot better than Demetri, even though he called me bitty little. I'm not little. I'm just below average.

"She's an annoying little human," Demetri snaps spitefully, but his voice wavers just a little. Maybe he feels bad for dropping me (I am SERIOUSLY sick of hitting floors around here) or maybe he just wants to eat me a lot. But either way before I can gather myself to my feet he grabs me under my arms and hoists me to my feet.

"There," he says. "Let's go."

And he sets off again. He and the other one start walking so fast I have to run to keep up with them. They've taken me at my unspoken promise not to run away from them. We all know who'd win in that situation. They don't seem to notice that I have to sprint after them. They're muttering in blurring-fast Italian that I can't understand.

"Here we are," the nicer of the two says cheerfully. He opens the door and gently prods me inside.

It's dark, the room is dimly lit by the open curtains allowing the setting sun to stream inside, but I can tell just how incredible it is. I see an enormous four-poster bed on some sort of raised platform against one of the stone walls. The covers are what appears to be royal-blue satin. The drapes that are tied back against the four posts are jet black. The floors are polished wood and there's an arabic-looking rug straight out of Aladdin spread regally in front of the bed. There's a dark oak bookshelves that tke up an entire wall, and are completely filled to the brim with books. Books of every possible kind – hardbacks that look like decent weapons, little paperbacks, fat books, lean books, books with yellowing dustjackets and books that are so old they don't even have covers any more.

I swallow nervously. Well, at least I won't be bored. I like reading.

There's a desk in the same dark wood with one of those proper spinning office chairs. At the desk there's another small pile of books that have been thumbed through so many times the pages are hopelessly dog-eared. There are also a few scraps of paper, but I'm not close enough to see what's on them.

An uneasy feeling lodges in my stomach and I wonder if I'm gonna hurl. This room belongs to someone. I glance behind me, wondering if it belongs to Demetri or the half-decent guy. But they're hovering outside the door, not even setting a toe on the borderline.

"You are to wait here," Demetri tells me. "In a while, someone will come for you. If you leave the room, you will be killed."

Thanks, bud. That makes it feel SO much like somewhere I want to spend my time, and not a bit like a prison. Really.

I force a sarcastic smile and fix my eyes on his face. "You're charming."

Guy number two grins slightly. Demetri's face remains emotionless.

"On second thought, wander around if you wish. Perhaps if you do, I will be the one Aro chooses to kill you," he hissed – a real hiss, like a cat makes. And then he disappeared. Like, really disappeared.

"Fucking FREAK!" I yell after him. I'll bet he heard it.

"I'm Santiago," the other guy says, drawing my eyes back to him. He glances left, seeing or hearing something that I don't. He smiles, a little guilty-looking. "He's going to get you for that."

"Let him try," I scoffed – but I feel my heart quicken. By 'get', it's obvious he means 'eat'.

Santiago glances around the room. "Were I you, I wouldn't touch anything." He nods politely, then goes to shut the door.

"Wait," I interrupt pleadingly. He quirks an eyebrow. His bloody eyes gleam and I remember, even though he may be nicer than Demetri and Aro, he's still a killer. I saw him murder people, bite them. I reel back a bit. "Who's room is this? Who's coming for me?"

He sighs a little and runs a hand through his dark brown hair. He looks a little bit like Aurelio, which is both reassuring, and fucking depressing. There's one long second filled with tension and pressure that threatens to crush me. Then Santiago finally answers.

"Someone worse than Demetri and Felix. Worse than anyone you saw downstairs."

And then he ducks his head and the door closes softly behind them.

I hear the click of a lock. He obviously doesn't trust me not to go walkabout in a castle full of people-devouring psycopaths. Oh ye of little faith.

I feel a little dizzy, suddenly coming short of breath. My atshma's kicking in again. It's okay when I run, or excersise or anything like that, but when I get stressed or upset or overly-anxious, I find it hard to breathe.

I feel that way now. I need my damn inhaler, but I dropped my bag when Aurelio was pulled away from me and I never thought to get it back.

Oh shit shit shit. My bag! My bag has fucking everything in it! Everything and anything I hold to my name is in that big shoulderbag. My passport, my money, my makeup and my Ipod, my chargers, my fucking inhaler, and my framed picture of my Nana and I.

My anxiety increases, and I choke on a rapid intake of breath. Oh God, no. My chest is heaving with laboured, improper breaths. The stress of tonight is finally catching up on me.

Fuck!

I can't breathe...

I feel like i'm drowning. In irrational, paniced moves, I kick and punch the door, praying that Santiago will realise there's somthing wrong with me and come back. I try to yell but I can't get the air in my lungs to even sob.

I can't breathe...

I slump against the door, clutching my throat. I sink towards the floor. The world wavers, darkening intimidatingly around the edges. Tears are streaming down my face and neck, and my throat is burning because I'm choking and coughing.

Fucking atshma...what a bitch.

I'm shaking so badly I can't keep a grip on my own neck. I scrabble desperately at the shiny floorboards, trying to get a grip on something. Oh God, why doesn't someone come? I can't breathe at all now, and I feel lightheaded. All I can manage are hiccupy-chokey breaths that sound completely pathetic. I feel so heavy, as if the whole world is pressing in on me. I slide down, until I'm lying on the floor.

I'm slipping...

I can't feel the floor beneath me anymore. Good. The dust was making me sneezy. I don't know if I'm breathing or not. I don't really care. I don't feel like I'm dying any more. Maybe I passed already. Maybe I'm in a coma.

Then something hard whacks me on the top of my head.

Motherfucker. Can't a girl die in peace? Is it fucking too much to ask?

I can hear again. Someone gasps. I hear them swearing, and something light drops to the ground with a clatter. The sound is annoying. And then there's a lifeline, something to cling to – something cool pressed forcefully against my lips and there's a sharp puff of air.

Someone brought me my inhaler. Well shit, the hell demons did something right.

I scrabble through my fucking twisted consciousness to try and find the energy to draw the air in. Another puff of air reaches my lips – another and another. Thank fucking hell.

I gasp the breaths in as quickly as I can, forgetting to pace myself. I manage to reach up and grab hold of my inhaler by myself, and my fingers brush against something solid and ice-cold.

I jump – a knee-jerk reaction – and the cold thing slips from beneath my fingers and cups my hand.

"It's okay," a sweet-sounding female voice soothes. "Breathe."

I try, but it takes time. And I start to freak again when I realise that I'm encased in someone's cool arms. Fuck. I want to scream at them to let me go, but I can't. I have to breathe.

Eventually, I'm breathing somewhat steadily again. Relieved and impatient, I shove my inhaler away from my lips, still clasping it in my clammy hand, and force my eyes open.

I was right – I'm in the arms of a young woman, about twenty or twenty one, with light brown hair in neat waves past her shoulders. Her brow is furrowed anxiously, but the rest of her face is perfectly smooth. Unnaturally so. Her lips are quite thin, but they suit her face. She's also a bit on the skinny side. But her most dominant feature are her big almond-eyes, glowing bright red.

I cringe and wriggle, grumbling swears, trying to escape the cage of her arms, the intense gaze of those evil eyes.

"I'm sorry," she apologises, carefully setting me on the floor. She clasps her hands in her lap as I sit up, a little dizzy still. I edge away from her – I saw her in the hall.

"Ow!" I hiss suddenly. I ran my fingers through my hair, only to find that I was hurt. A stinging ache settled annoyingly at the back of my head.

"Sorry," she apologised again. "I think I hit you with the door when I broke in..."

She trails off, her expression morphing from guilty to anxious and she bites down hard on her lip.

"I broke the lock," she whispers. Her nails dig into her palms. "He won't like that." Her face contorts briefly in anxiety.

I twist my body so I can look behind me. The door is swinging freely, and there are twisted bits of metal on the floor, which I take to be the remnants of the lock.

"I won't tell," I say to her. I suppose I do owe her that much, at least.

"He'll know anyway," she sighs. "I guess I just made things more difficult for you, in the end."

"What's your name?" I interrupt her worries; I'm too weary to pretend to give a shit.

"Renata," she replies. "You're Phoenix?"

I nod.

"Odd name," she smiles. "I've never heard of a Phoenix before."

"I've never known anyone called Renata," I reply.

What the fuck am I doing? I'm having a conversation with a murderous monster. Though she seems sweet, but does that matter? Santiago was nice, but I saw him kill the mother and two daughters that came in behind me.

She seems to sense the shift in my mood, because she rises suddenly and glances at my bag on the floor. I gasp in delight and snatch it up, cradling it to my chest.

YES! Score one for the annoying bitty human!

Wait...

HUMAN?

I jump up, staggering slightly as my dizzy spell returns. What the actual fuck?

"What are you?" I demand, my voice wavering. How did this not register with me before? They are not human, it's so fucking obvious!

Renata fidgets, her eyes on the floor. "I'm not allowed say anything, not yet. Alec is supposed to tell you when he gets back."

"Alec?" I repeat, tasting the name on my tongue. It feels bitter. Renata nods.

"This is his room you're in."

I fold my arms under my breasts, trying to clear my mind. "Why are you all so scared of him?" I demand.

"You'll learn," Renata says, sounding sad. "You're lucky...Aro wants you alive. But," she bites her lip again. "I think I know why you're here. In Alec's chambers."

"Why?" I demand again.

She shakes her head slowly, frowning. "I can't say. I'm sorry, truly sorry." She whirls towards the door, disorientingly fast. It's almost scary.

She turns back at the last minute, her hand on the doorknob. "Please, please," she says, her voice sounding desperate. "Please just stay in this room. You'll save us both an awful lot of hassle."

I nod, feeling totally drained. I'm finding it hard to care right now. That big bed is beckoning me; "Sleep, Nyx," it's purring. The covers look so soft.

"Truly sorry," Renata whispers again, closing the door.

As soon as she's gone, my face screws up in anguish. Several hot tears stream down my face. Why is this happening to me? I'm a good person, mostly. I don't lie. Not a lot anyway. And I don't steal. Well, not if there's a good chance of being caught. I don't fight unless someone hits me first. Then I can pin the blame on them. I've never set out to hurt anyone deliberately, not unless they've hurt me first.

My arms are wrapped around my bag. Suddenly I feel very, very tired. I want to sleep. Without a second thought, I crawl up onto the perfectly neat, silky covers. I wrap myself around my bag for something to hold, and shut my eyes.

I sleep. My body feels so heavy, but at least I can't feel my head throbbing while I'm unconscious. I dream. Usually I adore dreams, they're fun to try and figure out once I wake up. But this isn't a dream – it's a nightmare. I'm in the dark, cold and shivering, but not quite alone. The only thing I see beyond the blackness are several pairs of angry red eyes glaring at me hungrily. And they close in, and there's nothing I can do, because I'm trapped. They encircle me effortlessly, and when they're so close I can reach out to touch them, one lunges for my throat.

Something hard hits the back of my head, where I'm hurt. I give a sharp yelp of pain, my eyes bulging open in shock.

"Finally," a silky voice drawls. Not one I recognise. "I was getting bored waiting for you to wake up."

My eyes blur tiredly as I yawn, my mind telling me that I want more sleep. I want it right now.

"Wha thime 'i it?" I yawn.

"Four forty five AM," the voice responds.

I give a groan of agony. "Fuck off and let me slee-"

I don't get to finish my sentance. In a swift move, I'm flipped right off the bed. I land face down, my hands barely saving me from a seriously broken nose.

THIS. PLACE. IS. HELL.

A shoe placed stratigically under my sore ribs flips me over onto my back.

"Bitch," I groan, rubbing my ribs. I look up into the bright red eyes that are sparkling with amusement, encased in the most perfect face I've seen so far, and framed with beautifully thick, silky dark chocolate hair that shines in the light of the crystal chandelier hanging above our heads. It's the eyes that really get me though, they bore right into me with intensity that's almost painful. I force myself to sit up

These eyes appraise me critically. He stares and stares, first at my face, then he roves down my body, drinking in every detail. I give him the same treatment, trying not to be self-conscious. He's tall. Taller than me (though that's really not hard...) and quite lean, but there are obvious muscles beneath the clothes. His shoulders are rather broad, like Demetri, but much smaller than the vicious Felix. His stance is confident, cocky, almost. He's wearing some sort of uniform. Around his perfectly smooth, white throat is a chain-necklace with the same elaborate "V" symbol that everybody else here wore.

Oh, he was a freaking sex GOD.

"You're Phoenix?" He says, his voice sneering and superior.

Well, he's not making the greatest first impression of all time. But maybe I should wait before I judge this guy. But still, his critical stare is grating on my patience.

"Who are you?" I snap, not giving him an answer. I instantly feel bad for my rash reaction, and give a tentiative smile to show I'm sorry.

He lifts his chin. Yup, defenitely superior.

"I am Alec," he replies, as if he's bestowing me with a huge honor of knowing his name.

This is Alec? My new cellmate?

"You're Alec?" I respond, looking up into his Godlike face in abrupt surprise. He nods, looking totally smug.

My reaction shocks both of us. My lower lip trembles and I bite down hard on it. My shoulders start to shake and the rest of me trembles. I duck my head, letting my hair veil my face. It acts like a black curtain. A small sound escapes my lips that sounds like a sob. I clap my hand over my mouth.

Alec nudges my jean-covered thigh with his booted foot.

A sharp burst of laughter comes from me, and the dam breaks. I'm absolutely howling, clutching my stomach. My laughter is completely hysterical.

What's wrong with me? I'm acting like some fucking nutjob. Maybe I'm finally slipping into shock.

"What's so funny?" Alec snarls, furious. And yet I can't seem to take the fucker seriously.

"You're Alec?" I gasp between laughter.

"Yes," he hisses, those ruby eyes blazing angrily.

"The one everyone is so afraid of?"

"Yes," he spits. Oh, a temper have we? Well, that makes two of us. Though mine seems to have been buried by my hysterics.

"Oh!" I gasp, breathing hard and trying to contain myself. "B-but you're like...my age!" I'm off again. I expected some huge, intimidating bastard in chains and leather, like Felix but scarier. A bondage porno star come to life. He is completely the opposite of what I was preparing myself for.

And he totally does not appreciate my humor. With an animalistic growl, he, like Felix had, grips my upper arms in vicious tight hands, and then I'm airborne.

First I'm keeling over on the ground, and the next I don't feel the ground at all. Air whistles past me and in the very next second, I'm slammed into the stone wall.

A pained cry escapes my lips and I struggle against his grasp. I try to remind myself to pace my breathing as I aim a kick to where it hurts. My knee connects with his rock hard (no) groin, and he gives a low grunt. That's it! And now my knee is throbbing in pain.

"You asshole let me go!" I yell furiously, writhing. He hisses and slams me to the wall again, then presses himself to me, trapping me with his body. He pins my wrists to the wall above my head with one hand and uses the other to yank my head back, his fingers entangled painfully in my thick hair.

And then his plump, soft lips drag along my jaw, sending shockwaves through my whole body. I start to tremble again. I stop moving altogether, every muscle clenching. What the ever holy fuck is he doing? I have to press my lips together to contain an agonised whimper. He drifts slowly, torturously until he reaches my ear.

"Listen to me, Nyxie," he says, low and menacing. It's impossible not to be chilled by the dangerous undercurrent in his voice. "I have lived centuries longer than you ever hope to, you pathetic child. I have taken more lives, than you have taken breaths. And whilst you are alive here, you will belong to me."

"To you?" I spit, my jaw dropping in horror.

And then he does something both terrifying and disgusting. In a flash, his nips my earlobe with his teeth, causing me to grunt softly. Then his hand travels from the tangle of my hair and strokes my jaw before gripping it firmly. With a deliciously dangerous smirk, he leans forward and nips my bottom lip as he did my ear, only this is not careful. I gasp as I feel a sharp sting, and then disorienting warmth as blood pools on my mouth.

He pulls back a little, holding his breath. He watches in obscure fascination as the small drop of blood slides down my chin and drips onto my crumpled shirt. I give a small thrash – natural instinct telling me to wipe it away and take care of my little wound, but he's still got my hands pinned.

He leans in again, and my stomach curls as his tongue slips through his lips and he catches the blood on the end of my chin, licking upwards until he reaches my lip. His lips never so much as brush off mine, but his tongue glides over the cut he created, and though it hurts, the bleeding stops.

Before I can process this obscene violation, he whirls me away from the wall until I'm standing alone in the centre of the room.

"To me," he confirms, smug and unwavering.

I touch my swollen lip. It feels hot with the blood that pumps underneath. "You're such a fucking pervert!" I scream, stamping my foot. He laughs at me.

"Now now," he coo's, in a voice that makes my hand ache to punch him right in his pretty face. "That's no way to speak to your Master."

"Master?"

"Yes," he nods. "You are my birthday present."

My head whirls in confusion and rage. I'm starting to need my inhaler yet again, but it's on the bed and I won't get there before he stops me. I close my eyes and try to pace my breathing, but I'm so infuriated.

"Let me look at you," he muses, circling me slowly. I try not to pay attention to him, focusing on my breathing, but now he's commenting.

"A bit on the small side," he ponders. I clench my teeth. "A bit skinny too. Good curves I suppose. Breasts could be bigger though..." I'm breathing fire. What an asshole! I want to give him another kick but my knee is still throbbing. I fold my arms protectively over my little-less-than-c-cups. Peronally I think they're fricking lovely. Nice and round and firm. But APPARANTLY it wasn't enough for some people.

"But beggars can't be choosers, I guess," he shrugs. "You'll do."

I'm so angry. Forgetting that he can effortlessly overpower me if he wants, I stomp over to the bed and snatch up my inhaler, taking puff after puff of air while he watches me curiously.

"Happy fucking birthday," I spit.

Despite the disheartening lack of response, I uploaded the second chapter because I had it prewritten. I've started the third chapter too, and if I get at least ONE review, I'll upload it. But if I don't then I'm deleting the story altogether.