The Oklahoma sky was acid washed by the midday sun and Jasper's bare chest was casting tiny rainbows across the pitch interior of the truck we had rented. It was a Dodge Ram SRT-10, words that meant nothing to me, but Jasper had said them like they meant something and I would defer to his judgement. It was fast, as far as pickup trucks go, and had carried us across three states overnight. Our hands were intertwined, resting on the expanse of seat between us, but we had barely spoken two words to each other. Mulling things over as Georgia turned to Tennessee and turned to Arkansas.

"Somethin' wrong, Darlin'?" Jasper asked. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Besides the obvious?"

"Mmmhmm." He didn't take his eyes off the road, but the pad of his thumb traced lazy circles across my skin.

"Oh, I suppose its related," I said. I shifted in my seat, taking a long, deep breath. So many words had gone unsaid, not just for the weeks I had spent with Jas, but for the years, decades, centuries I had agonized over my fate. I said, "I used to be a good person. When I was human. Before all this."

Not a saint, not by any stretch of the imagination. But I had been a faithful wife, a loving mother, and a dutiful nurse. I had hated to see even a flash of pain in someone's eyes. It was where my gift had come from. I would have done anything to ease a patient's suffering.

"You're still a good person," Jasper said. It was hard not to laugh. The humor was not born of any lightness of subject, but the utter ridiculousness of the statement. I said, "I've killed people. So many people."

One just hours ago. I still remember the searing pain of my venom in his veins and the cold, clammy texture of his bloodless corpse, rotting in the Georgia sun.

"So, have I," Jasper said. He squeezed my hand. "You should forgive yourself."

I shook my head. The scenery flew by at well over a hundred miles per hour. Long expanses of cerulean sky. A large green sign that read 'Welcome to Texas'. An armadillo made its lazy way down the side of the road, it's long claws clicking at the fragmented corners of the pavement where gravel turned to sandy brush. Welcome to Texas indeed.

"Do you?" I asked, "Forgive yourself?"

I already knew. He had near-daily fits of guilt. When there was a lull in conversation, or we had touched on a sensitive topic. Even now, shame was simmering under the surface of our interaction.

"No," Jasper admitted, "but you should."

"Ha! Hypocrite." I laughed dryly.

"Hardly," he replied, "I'm workin' on it. It gets easier. The longer you go without human blood."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. He had gone decades before he met me.

Jasper's hand brushed through my hair, scattering the curls. He cupped my face, soothed his thumb along my cheek, and said, "No, Baby. That wasn't your fault."

He smiled good-naturedly. "I'm an adult. I make my own choices."

I shrugged. "But you wouldn't have slipped if I hadn't first. If I could have kept my own thirst under control, then you wouldn't have had to feel it."

"I imagine my throat burning didn't help you? I influenced your gift as much as you influenced mine?"

I had no argument, and he took my silence as ascension.

"I plan to call Carlisle when we arrive in Dalhart," Jasper said, "perhaps he has heard of mates with . . . complementary gifts."

"That's a nice way of putting it," I deadpanned.

"Hey, it ain't all bad," he said, "remember what we were doing before all that?"

A real, full laugh found its way out of my chest, and a bright grin lit Jasper's face at the sound. It was certainly not all bad. Feeling every touch, every emotion of my lover as though they were my own. Knowing how he responds to my touch or to my kiss. It was intensely erotic.

I examined his form: a hard, muscular statue, the perfect replica of a Greek masterpiece. Dipping my head until the curtain of my hair brushed his skin, I kissed the contour of his shoulder, the very line where a commemorative bust would end. Though there were a few things lower down that deserved to be celebrated.

"Are planning to wear clothes today, Jas?" I asked, resting my cheek on his arm. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, securing my body to his. Safety. Comfort.

He laughed. "I'm wearing clothes. Jeans, see?"

He bumped his knee against mine, the denim dragging along my bare skin.

"Besides, Darlin'," he said, "are you asking me to put clothes on?"

"Hmm," I hummed, running my fingers along his collar bone, "no, I'm not."

"Didn't think so," he said. His gaze dropped to mine for the first time, flicking away from the long stretch of gray ahead of us. The bright crimson startled me, somehow it colored his features differently. The upward turn to his mouth showed his good humor when placed next to butterscotch eyes but looked menacing next to the bloody color his irises had taken. The handsome, strong lines of his jaw and his cheekbones now looked sharp and sinister. I wasn't afraid - how could I be when he regarded me so tenderly? - but it had become easier to see how he was once a feared commander of the largest newborn army in the South.

Maria's army had been something of legend, even in Atlanta. The leadership of my former company excused their shortcomings by claiming they were only limited by the square footage of land being contested. Maria had the entirety of Mexico at her disposal and that was why she thrived. But it was, and had always been, Jasper's brilliant mind. The same mind that interpreted complex philosophy and knew every facet of history in every nuanced detail.

The same mind that had found a companion in me.

"Sarah?"

"Mmm?"

"Have you thought of contacting your family?" He said it gently, and I managed not to flinch. The sense of betrayal was still fresh.

My gaze skirted around the cab of the truck, searching for the scrap of paper I had tossed in as we were leaving. I found it, curled along the contours of the cupholder. The bright white, shiny photo - it was just a copy of the original and had been protected in a picture frame for many years - showed a picture of my family at its most full and its most . . . unpolluted. It was a black and white portrait, taken in the late 1940's. My father, Augustine, stood tall and proud in the top left, and his sons, in descending age, stood to his right. Daniel, the eldest of the two brothers, stood with his hands resting on his wife - my sister's - hips and his shaggy, dark hair falling in his face. Matthew was next to him, towering over us all. All three men wore sharp suits, cut in the latest fashions of the time. I sat in a chair, next to and holding hands with my sister, in front of my father. My hair was up in a pompadour, curled and tied with a ribbon, and my skirt, a little too short for the time as it was, had been pulled further up my thigh by the position I was sitting in. My brothers had teased me for being 'scandalous'. Heather was missing of course; the photo had been taken decades before she was born.

On the back of the picture - the ink still smelled fresh - were the words 'Kansas. I love you.' written in Joanna's perfect cursive. I had found it in my house, resting on the kitchen table as it waited to be discovered.

"I've thought about it," I said, "Dalhart isn't too far from Dodge City is it?"

"Just a couple hours," Jasper said.

I nodded, "Maybe I'll visit them."

"So, you know they're in Dodge City?"

"No," I replied, "not for sure. But that is where Dan and Matt grew up. Wasn't called Dodge City then. Kansas wasn't even a territory."

"They were pioneers?" Jasper asked.

"Yes, and their father before them. He left the colonies and moved west. Fell in love with a Pawnee woman. He gave his sons English names in case they ever had to assimilate."

Jasper nodded along. I knew he was placing the events into the timeline in his mind, mapping their place in history. "And they were turned . . .?"

"By Augustine. And Mary. She was Augustine's mate. Dan and Matt's parents had died of typhoid fever, and they wouldn't have lived much longer themselves. And Mary wanted children, so . . ."

"You had a mother?" Jasper said. The surprise was clear in his voice, but I shook my head. "No. She was killed in the first of the wars. In the 1830's. I never met her."

I thought for a minute, about the softness in Augustine's eyes when he had spoken of her, and the respect my brothers had carried for her, even so many years after her death.

"She was a lovely woman," I added, "from what I've been told."

Jasper smiled at me. "I'm sure she was."

"I miss them, Jasper."

He hugged me tighter.

A/N: My original plan was to upload Wednesday/Saturday, like I did with TSHSM, but I've been really excited and motivated to write this story and I've been finishing early. So, I think I'm going to post Tuesday/Friday. Let me know what you think so far. I love reading reviews! - Elizabeth